Witch War
by Siavahda
Summary: Cloud must prove himself to his people in a world where virginity can mean death. Riku must make the ultimate sacrifice for his brother. When Sora and Roxas walked out of the air, they didn't mean to start a war. Really. RikuSora, AxelRoxas, CloudLeon.
1. Death of a Star

**Hey everyone! Brand new story - yay! - inspired by a wonderful fic whose name I've forgotten, along with various youtube vids. I will supply the name of the inspiring fic with the next chapter, promise!**

**I'm not giving up on my other fics - I'm working on Darkness and I Need You even as I type. Or rather, I WAS working on them, until I typed this. No duh.**

**Summary:Three Clans of Witches - Star-Clan, Shadow-Clan, Fire-Clan. Light, Twilight, and Darkness. They live in a world where being a virgin can mean your death, where the term 'soul-mate' has a very real meaning, and ethics and morals are as flexible as a very flexible thing indeed.  
****When a pair of twins appear out of thin air in the middle of the night, it sparks off a Witch-War, with every clan desperate for thee two boys - for very different reasons...Sora/Riku, Roxas/Axel, Cloud/Leon, side-pairings Zexion/Demyx, Xemnas/Saix.**

**Warnings: Eventual dark themes, minor charater death, attempted rape...Oh yeah, and just in case you didn't get it - SLASH! As in, boy-on-boy. Don't like, don't read. **

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise isn't mine. The concept of the Witches, clans, and assorted uniqueness IS mine, however, so don't steal!**

* * *

Chapter One – Death of a Star

Clan-Home of the Star-Clan

The priestess fell silent, the only sound left the wind in the trees as the assembled Witches turned, as one, to the setting sun, watching the gold and blood paint the sky as the orb of fire slowly vanished beneath the horizon.

The two Princes were just as silent as the rest, waiting almost without breath for the day to end, but the younger brother's cheeks were streaked with tears, the hands clasped behind his back clenched white-knuckle tight as he fought back his sobs, head bowed so his silver hair fell across his face like a curtain, hiding the evidence of his sorrow. The older brother was more composed, his face almost empty of emotion, but his eyes, too, shimmered, and not from the light of the setting sun.

Reno, joint-leader of the Angels, stepped out of the crowd as the sun melted away into the earth, walking across the empty space to the funeral pyre, the small pyramid of oil-soaked wood atop which lay the dead Princess, her hands folded on her chest. White flowers and pearls were woven into her chestnut hair, loose and unbound as it trailed down to her moonshine-white death-robe.

All eyes watched the Witch as he reached out to lay his hand on the wood, careful not to touch his Princess.

No one flinched when fire roared up along the wood, leaping for the sky as it wailed out it's sorrow, the song sung by the hearts of all those watching. Scented smoke spiralled up into the twilight air as their Princess burned, her soul released from her body to drift up to the stars of paradise with the smoke of her pyre.

They all prayed that she would watch over them.

)0(

"My Lords."

The two Princes turned as one, Cloud's hand reaching for that of his younger brother, as the two of them faced the Prince of the Shadow-Clan, Axel, flanked by his personal guards Zexion and Demyx.

The flame-haired Witch hesitated, eyeing the joined hands hesitantly. It was unusual for any of the royal families to be so open about emotion, but Cloud didn't care today. Knew he'd be forgiven, today.

"Prince Cloud, Prince Riku…" Axel said softly, looking from one to the other. "I'm so sorry. She didn't deserve to die."

The two Shadow-Witches to either side of him bowed their heads in respectful agreement, and Cloud's throat tightened, tears pricking at his eyes, his fingers tightening reflexively on Riku's hand.

His brother returned the gesture, and the older Prince almost started crying – he was meant to be the strong one, the powerful one. He was supposed to be looking after his baby brother; and it was _Riku _comforting _him_.

"Thank you," he choked out, smiling weakly.

Riku echoed him, quietly, before the two of them turned away, walking back to the mansion. They had barely taken four steps before their cousin, Vincent, slipped into step beside them.

"Cloud? Riku? How are you holding up?" He asked quietly, red velvet cloak fluttering in the evening breeze, his dark eyes seeing their joined hands instantly. His ivory-pale face frowned slightly, looking worried, but he said nothing. Even though Riku was sixteen, and rarely showed weakness in front of the rest of his Clan, Vincent and Cloud both knew he sometimes needed his nineteen year old brother more than he let on – and today was one of those times.

"The Flames didn't show up," Riku said quietly, voice muffled behind his hair. He was hiding behind it again. "Too cowardly to show their faces."

Cloud squeezed his hand a little tighter, the tension wound tight as a spring in his chest easing a little when his brother returned the gesture.

"They're still insisting it was a rogue group, aren't they?" Cloud asked Vincent as they approached the manor house, knowing the assorted Star Witches trailed behind them respectfully, too far off to hear their conversation.

Vincent nodded solemnly. "Sephiroth takes no responsibility for the attack, Cloud, and insists none of his Clan had anything to do with it."

Riku halted suddenly, his hair flying back over his shoulder as his head turned suddenly to Vincent, aquamarine eyes blazing with righteous anger. "The dead Witches bear the Flame-Clan mark, and that bastard _dares_ deny responsibility?!"

His voice was loud, and both Cloud and Vincent looked over their shoulders to make sure no one had heard the outburst before their cousin replied.

"Yes, he denies it, Riku," he said softly as they continued walking. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."

They were at the main entrance now, the double doors left open as the servants had all been attending the funeral. As they approached them, Riku smashed his fist into the thick wood angrily, tears of frustration and heart-pain trailing down his face.

"Nothing we can do? How can the Flames get away with murdering a Princess? How can they escape retribution?" He punched the door again, ignoring the torn skin on his fist, the faint bubbles of blood dusting his knuckles like gems. "_Explain _it to me, _please_!"

Vincent met his heart-ache gaze squarely, without a flicker of emotion. "This is how things are, Riku. We can do nothing without starting a war between clans, something that would at least half our number. One life, no matter how royal, is not worth that of hundreds."

The Prince and Third-Heir to the crown stared at each other, one emotionless, one angry and almost crying, before Riku backed down, looking away at the stone steps. They were still standing outside the doors, and the rest of the clan was approaching.

"I…Cloud, I can't…" Riku looked up at his older brother helplessly. "I can't stand all the apologies, as if they're all trying to take the blame for it; I can't stand the polite, etiquette-soaked speeches and toasts; Cloud, I _can't_."

A choked, heart-wrenching sob tore from the younger Prince's throat, and he abruptly turned tail and fled into the house, his silver hair streaming behind him as he vanished into the inner darkness of the house. As was custom, with the setting of the sun all the lights in the manor had been snuffed out, to help their sister's spirit follow the light of Paradise through the night, so she would not be distracted or blinded by the mortal lights. Come dawn, the clan would gather outside once more, lighting the mansion's candles and lamps from the still-burning pyre – and Cloud wondered if Riku would be able to attend the ceremony, if he would be feeling better by then.

He didn't think so. Because he wasn't feeling up to it either.

Vincent grasped his arm comfortingly. "Cloud…" He trailed off, knowing they both knew there were no words to take the pain away.

Cloud nodded jerkily, smiling weakly. "Come on, Vincent. We've got to host this thing – let's do it right. For Aerith."

His cousin nodded, letting go of his arm to stride into the mansion, cloak billowing in the dark. "For Aerith."

)0(

Cloud knocked on the door gently, his knuckles tapping on the polished wood. He listened for his brother as his eyes roved over the carved door, trailing absently over the border of star-woven roses, the silver doorknob inset with aquamarines and lapis lazuli.

"Come in," Riku called softly, and Cloud guessed his face was muffled in a pillow.

Swinging the door open, he saw he'd guessed right. His younger brother was lying on the sapphire-blanketed four-poster, the midnight-blue curtains embroidered with pearls that reminded him, like a stab to the chest, of the pearls woven into their sister's hair. Her death-jewels.

Cloud sat down on the bed, resting his hand between Riku's shoulder blades. Riku's silver hair was splayed out on the pillow, hiding his face, but as Cloud rubbed circles on his brother's back the younger Prince relaxed a little.

"Are you ok?" Cloud asked softly, keeping up the comforting circles as he awaited an answer, not sure if he was going to get one.

But he did.

"No, I'm not ok, Cloud." Riku stated, voice trembling. "But I'll deal with it."

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Cloud felt guilty – he had never been good with words, and now he needed them he felt guilty for not having the skill, for not being able to comfort his brother when Riku really, really needed him.

"I'm here for you, baby bro, ok?" Cloud told him quietly. "You know that, don't you?"

Riku nodded into the pillow, his hair rustling.

After a moment of silence, Cloud made to get up, but a hand on his stopped him. Startled, he looked down to see Riku looking up at him, his head turned on the pillow.

"You know when they brought the news yesterday?" Riku asked softly, voice shaking. "And you had to wake me up, because I'd fallen asleep after training?"

Throat constricted, Cloud nodded jerkily. "Yeah."

Riku licked his lips, suddenly nervous. "I…I had a life-dream. My first one."

Cloud blinked, sitting back down on the bed. "Are you sure?"

His younger brother nodded slowly. "Positive. It was so _real_…I could feel everything – touch it, and smell it, taste it…" He trailed off, lost in his thoughts.

"Boy or girl?" Cloud asked past the lump in his throat. A life-dream. This was huge. He couldn't decide whether to feel jealous that his younger brother was having his life-dreams before Cloud, or to feel all choked up and proud because his baby brother, that Aerith and Cloud had raised on their own, was growing up.

He sounded like a _girl_. Oh god.

"Boy," Riku said, voice a whisper. "And he's beautiful, and innocent and _light_…Hair like cinnamon and eyes like sapphires." A weak smirk. "And short."

Cloud smiled, ruffling his brother's hair. "Sounds like you got a looker, baby bro. Think he deserves you?"

The younger Prince was silent for a moment, and Cloud worried he'd gone too far before Riku replied. "If you'd seen him, Cloud, you wouldn't even have to ask."

He had nothing to say to that – he reached down to hug his brother, feeling a tentative arm come up around his shoulder as Riku returned it hesitantly.

Pulling away, Cloud smiled weakly. "I'll be with Vincent if you want me, ok?"

Riku nodded silently, his arms coming up to hug his pillow, but he didn't burry his face in it again. Probably a good sign.

The Crown-Heir of the Star Clan stood up, crossing over to the door before hesitating, one hand on the doorknob. "I'm going to station a pair of guards outside your door, Ri. Is that – ?"

"Its fine," Riku said quickly, cutting him off. "Its fine, Cloud."

Nodding silently, awkwardly, the older Prince slipped quietly out the door, shutting it with a _click_ behind him.

)0(

The mourners gathering was still going on, but Cloud excused himself from the guests, and no one said a word, though the Angels, the group of Witches assigned to his family's protection, watched him leave with worried eyes.

He headed for the balcony on the second floor, outside the library, sure no one would follow him here. Letting his head fall to his chest as he leaned on the balustrade, he stood still as the wind ruffled through his hair.

Was it Aerith's spirit, telling him it would be all right? He wondered, looking up over the grounds. He was in the East wing, unable to see the delicate pillar of smoke from his sister's pyre on the other side of the house, but it's presence ached inside him, like the ache of a newly-inset filling in a tooth, and he found himself moving around it, like a compass around a magnet – constantly aware of his position in relation to it.

Aerith was dead. It was so hard to imagine, that the Princess of the Star Clan, their pride and joy, was gone. No one would ever be sent down to the south gardens to find her again; no kitchen-boy would ever be sent to request some of her home-grown fruit or vegetables; Riku would never be eased back to sleep after a nightmare by her soft, sweet voice threading through the dark of a room.

"Riku had his first life-dream last night," he said aloud, wondering if Aerith could still hear him. How far had she gone on her journey to paradise? Was it right to try and keep her on earth for a little longer? "I had to wake him up from it to tell him they'd found your body."

His voice choked, but he kept on anyway, breathing hard as he struggled to keep talking. "Can you believe it, Aerith? Riku's dreaming of his life-partner before me. He sounds good-looking too." He grinned weakly, letting his eyes fall closed. "Did you dream of your life-partner, Aerith? I don't think you did – you would have told us, wouldn't you?

"I wonder how long it'll be before Riku finds this boy," he mused aloud, imagining his year-younger sister sitting on the balustrade, swinging her legs under her skirt as she listened to him. "He doesn't sound like he's in our clan, though…And I don't think he'd belong to the Flame-Clan, do you?" His eyes hardened. The Clan his sister's killers belonged to.

"That just leaves the Shadow-Clan," he murmured, leaning down on his elbows. "Maybe I should ask Axel if any of his people fit the description…"

"You could, but I doubt the Shadow-Prince knows _all_ of his subjects," Vincent said quietly, suddenly appearing beside his cousin on the balcony.

Cloud didn't even blink. "He might."

"But he probably doesn't," Vincent said again, quietly. "Riku will find his partner on his own, Cloud. That's the way it always is."

The Prince said nothing – just stared out over the grounds.

"Cloud, I'm sorry to bring this up now, but…"

The blond looked to his cousin. "What?"

The Third-Heir hesitated. "Cloud, to be blunt, you're not Safe."

The Prince was silent, his eyes never flickering from the borderline of forest ahead of them both.

Vincent pressed on. "Some of the Witches downstairs are muttering about having an unSafe leader, Cloud. It was being whispered before, but Aerith's death has sent it home for a lot of people. They want security, Cloud, not uncertainty."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Cloud snapped, turning to look at his cousin. "I can't summon my life-dreams to me by clicking my fingers, Vincent! As you overheard, Riku's started his – isn't that good enough for them? To have at least one Heir that's Safe?"

Vincent leaned forward, his finger poking into Cloud's chest. "_You're_ the Crown-Heir, Cloud – it's _you_ they want Safe." He pulled back. "Gods forbid, but think about it. You're off in the mountains almost every day, with two Angels if you're having a good day. What if there's an ambush, and someone steals your starfire?"

Cloud winced, eyes flooding with pain at the thought. _What if someone steals your starfire?_

What if someone rapes you?

That's what it meant, what it all came down to. Witches were vulnerable until they'd gifted their virginity to another, their magik reacting with that of another to strengthen itself, protect itself and its host-Witch. After that reaction, they reached their full power, their full strength, and there was very little that could harm them.

But.

A stronger Witch could _steal your starfire_, your magik, by taking by force what was meant to be given. It was the trust, that fear-spiked love and trust and tenderness that was a Witch's strength, that shielded them – if a virgin Witch was raped, they had no protection, and a stronger Witch could tear their magik away, leave them dead or dying husks, forever locked out of the world of wishes and dreams, locked out and left in the cold.

Without your magik, you didn't go to Paradise.

Cloud shivered, suddenly cold as he thought of being without his magik. He flexed his hand to reassure himself, watching the flickers of light dancing up the veins of his fingers, winding up and down like glowing threads, before they faded away, back into nothingness.

But Witches – at least, those who followed the Laws – gave their virginity to their life-partners, their soul-mates. And the problem was that Cloud hadn't found his yet, hadn't had a life-dream, a Witch's prophetic dreaming of their life-partner, yet.

"The Prince Kadaj is Safe now," Vincent told him quietly. "Not to his life-partner, though."

Cloud grimaced – the idea of letting anyone but his partner inside him was repulsive, sickening. Nausea clawed at his stomach as he thought of it, and he tried to concentrate on Vincent.

"The Flame-Clan doesn't follow the Laws," Cloud replied, still feeling ill.

"No, they do not," Vincent agreed musingly, straightening. "But I mean what I said, cousin. We must find your life-partner as soon as possible – and Riku's, as well. Perhaps you are right – perhaps they would accept it if the second-in-line – the back-up, if you will – is Safe. Just in case."

"Just in case," he echoed stonily, staring out over the grounds again. "Just in case."

Unknown Location on the Edge of London

The air at the end of the street shimmered, like air over train-tracks on a hot day. A mirage, perhaps.

Or so it could have been thought - until two teenagers walked straight out of it, blinking heavy eyes as they fought sleep.

The one with deep gold hair supported the other, even though neither of them looked like they had enough energy to even stand. The cinnamon-haired stumbled, his hand clutching at the other's shoulder, and they both fell, tumbling gracelessly through the air.

A doorstep was their pillow, the twilight their blanket as they snuggled together, too tired to move, too tired to think.

Too tired to dream.


	2. Dark Phoenix

**Hey everyone! Yep, I'm back with the next chapter – and I'm pleased with how it turned out. Yay! And we have some nice Loz/Kadaj/Yazoo action here too…squee!**

**The story that sort of inspired this fic is ****It's a Kind of Magic****. It's in my faves if you want to look for it…I highly recommend it! To be honest, this isn't the story I wanted to write, but I'll get around to that one in a few months, hopefully…**

**Disclaimer with the first chapter. Summary same. Slash truly begins in this chapter, so read on at your peril. **

* * *

Chapter Two – Dark Phoenix

Clan Home of the Fire-Clan

Kadaj crowed with exhilaration as he swung his blade, feeling the wild, spicy rush of power flowing through him, a wave of magik that carried him ever closer to victory. He loved the spark of fear in the other's eyes as his long, thin blade flashed from side to side, his duelling-partner's super-human speed seeming slow and clumsy today.

He laughed with wild excitement as he lunged forward, darting to the side as he feinted, feeling the ease of his new speed, the surge of strength and magik and _power_. This was his true potential realised, his full power unlocked after last night, and it had never felt so _good_, so _natural_. He didn't even have to reach for the magik as he fought, the newly released strength pouring through him almost uncontrollably.

Darting suddenly behind Loz, he swung his blade as he ran, tracing a blood-jewelled line across the back of the Witch's neck, the other not turning in time.

Loz stiffened, his sword falling to the ground as Kadaj's blade rested between his shoulder blades.

"Do you yield?" The Flame-Prince asked softly, moving the point of his sword in small circles over the leather armour, letting his guard feel the deadly edge.

Jerkily, the other Witch nodded, and, grinning, Kadaj retreated, stepping away from his opponent to the approving whistles and cheers of the watching Flames gathered around them.

Their Prince bowed, his short silver hair falling forward for a moment before he straightened, meeting his father's eyes. Sephiroth was smiling proudly, back to the setting sun, clapping with the rest, and Kadaj grinned in triumph, still able to feel the rushing roar of the magik flowing through his veins like a river, pounding in his ears. It was exhilarating, amazing, fantastic.

Kadaj crossed the circle to join his father, seeing Loz and Yazoo, his personal guards, quickly flank him at a respectful distance. Idly, he wondered if last night would change things between the three of them – the Princes of each Clan invariably became close to their ever-present escorts, but not to the point of becoming Safe with them.

He shivered deliciously, eyes glazing slightly at the sudden assault of memories; the feeling of taking and being taken, wonderfully trapped between two naked bodies; the slick slide of sweat on skin, of teeth and nails and wet mouths. The writhing pleasure, knowing what they were doing was so _wrong_, so deliciously dark; the star-shower of power that burst inside his chest as he cried out, arching into his new strength, being burned from the inside out and emerging reformed from the flames like the dark phoenix that he was.

Sephiroth's piercing gaze met his for a moment, and though the Witch-King undoubtedly knew what he was thinking, nothing was said of it as the two – with Yazoo and Loz following – made their way to the Clan-Home mansion.

"How do you feel?" His father asked him suddenly, turning his head to his son slightly as they walked, the older man's long blade stroking the grass.

Kadaj smirked. "Amazing." He answered, reaching a hand out, palm up, to demonstrate.

Fire leapt up from his palm, crackling and snarling like an animal as the red-hot heat caressed his skin through the leather gloves – but, he realised, cocking his head as he stared at the flames, it wasn't enough, wasn't enough to truly manifest his emotions.

Barely needing a flicker of power, his two hands shot up, curling as if holding a sphere before throwing the invisible ball as hard as he could, hair whirling as two rivers of flame streamed from the two figures, roaring a pathway up to mansion. The light exploded out of the darkness, licking at the faces of the two Witches, casting eerie shadows like cloaks behind them.

"Amazing," he said again, the gold and ruby light shining in his eyes, entranced by the flames. It was still so hard to accept – that he was now so strong. To compare his power of just yesterday with the magma-store inside him now was like comparing a raindrop with a lake. The difference was unbelievable.

Sephiroth nodded slowly, flicking his wrist abruptly as they continued on their way. The twin paths of fire snuffed out like candle-flames, the scorched earth strips quickly smoothed over with midnight-emerald grass, hard to see in the dark.

"Good," his father stated quietly, holding the door open for him as his son walked through. "Then we can put the next stage of the plan into action."

The Prince glanced at him questioningly, looking quickly away as Loz and Yazoo stepped through the door behind them. "As you wish, father," Kadaj murmured quietly, his voice suddenly demure. "Shall we speak after the evening meal?"

Sephiroth nodded his agreement, before he paused suddenly outside the door to his study, looking back over his shoulder at the two guards following them. "No – we shall talk now."

Raising a delicate silver eyebrow, the Witch-King's eyes narrowed at the warriors. Flinching, Loz and Yazoo retreated around the corner, and as they walked away Kadaj couldn't help his gaze trailing down their battle-shaped bodies, suppressing a shiver at the knowledge of what lay beneath the skin-tight leather. A twinge of lust twisted his stomach, heat flushing down his hips, but his eyes snapped back to his father as the study door opened with a loud click.

Shaking his mind free of such thoughts, he quickly slipped through the doorway, closing the door behind him as the Witch-King took a seat behind the polished-wood desk, drawing his unsheathed blade and lying it down on the wooden surface as he faced his son.

"Take a seat, Kadaj," he murmured, inclining his head to the pair of jade-velvet chairs on the other side of the desk, and without hesitation the Prince sat down, flitting from the door to the chair on the left, smirking as he lounged back into the plush seating, crossing his legs elegantly.

Sephiroth leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands, fingers meshed together as he leaned on his elbows. "Kadaj, do you know the history of our Clan?"

The Prince cocked his head, silently questioning his King.

"The Flame-Clan came to be because there were Witches who disagreed with the Laws that bound us," Sephiroth told him calmly, watching for a reaction. "Strong Witches. Powerful Witches. And, I will not deny it, darker Witches that could not stand the frustration of walking in the light."

Kadaj, crossing his arms in front of his chest, nodded to show he understood, that he was listening. He knew some of this from his tutors, but sensed his father would not go over history needlessly. There would be some important message in this lesson.

"When these Witches demanded the Laws be changed, or cast aside, there was uproar," Sephiroth continued. "They were exiled from the Clans in disgrace, in the hope that, without the support of other Witches, they would be forced to either disappear into the human world to survive, or those too proud to do so would die in the wilderness."

The Prince snarled, eyes narrowing in anger, and Sephiroth smiled darkly, amused at his son's fury. One Law, and one only bound the Flames – Bond of the Phoenix. No Flame ever killed another – not in anger; not in hate; not in execution – and none ever let another die. No Flame ever betrayed another's trust. In battle, no one was ever on their own, never without another at their backs.

And they were fast becoming the ultimate fighting machine because of it.

To hear that the holier-than-thou Light Clans had tried to kill their own kin – and _his_; these Witches were his ancestors – made his blood _boil_.

"How did they _dare_?" Kadaj snarled, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, hands slamming down on the desk. "Did no one stand up for them?"

Sephiroth shook his head. "The motion passed unanimously on the two councils."

Stunned, Kadaj fell back into his seat, shocked and silent. His father went on with his tale.

"And they might have died," the King mused, tapping his fingers against his chin as he spoke. "Had not our ancestor, the eventual Witch-Queen Jenova, brought these outcasts together to form a new Clan. It is said that they gathered at the centre of the New Forest, naming her their Queen and declaring themselves now kin with a huge bonfire that reached higher than the trees. To bond their trust, each Witch walked through the flames, the magik of the others protecting them."

He looked up to meet his son's eyes. "Jenova was the first to prove she trusted her new people."

Smiling softly, proud of his ancestor, Kadaj nodded for his father to go on.

"They took their name from the fire that bonded them together," Sephiroth said softly, eyes gleaming with something nameless. "They lit the flames in defiance of the fate the other Clans thrust upon them, and took their Mark from it."

"Dark Phoenix," Kadaj murmured, hand reaching up to curl around the back of his neck instinctively, leather-clad fingertips tracing the top of his Clan-Mark; the black phoenix rising from silver flames, wings outspread across his two shoulders, stretching from the base of his spine to the meeting of his neck and skull.

The Witch-King nodded.

"Jenova always dreamed of destroying the Clans that had sentenced her and her people to death," he murmured, face inscrutable. "They trained and trained to the exclusion of all else, each of them dreaming the same dream. Some of them had been the elite of the Stars, the Shadows, cast out only because they had been feared for their strength – and they poured that power into this dream, into their swords, into their bonds as a Clan.

"And the day came when they tried to make that dream a reality.

"They attacked the scouting groups of the other Clans first, slaughtering the pathetically unprepared Witches. The other Clans didn't know that the outcast Witches had come together, didn't know there was now a third Clan. It was assumed some of the surviving outcasts were responsible, maybe five of them having banded together.

"So they sent warriors down to the New Forest, in nines and tens, ordering them to dispatch the renegades.

"They were slaughtered.

"It escalated. Every Witch that entered Fire-Clan territory was killed, every scouting group and pack of hunters, every dispatchment of warriors. And when Jenova decided it was time to extend their lands, the other Clans realised what had been hidden in plain sight all along.

"The Stars and Shadows were unprepared, but they mobilised quickly when they realised the danger. They met the Flames in war: and we lost, our Queen dying in that battle."

Sephiroth sighed. "Jenova's failure was that all her people's trust was in _her_. She had no second-in-command, no other Witches to share the burden of leadership, and she could not be everywhere at once."

He met his son's gaze once more, his earth-fire eyes gleaming. "But we will not make that mistake again."

"What?" Kadaj asked, startled out of his reverie. "You mean to destroy the other Clans?"

His father shook his head slowly, long silver hair whispering. "Not quite. It is time the Flames regained their rightful place – as the elite of the Clans. The undisputed leaders. And if they fight us?" He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Then yes, they will be destroyed. We have been planning this for generations, from father to son for almost two hundred years. Our children are the result of careful selection of bloodlines – stronger and stronger Witches are born each year, while the other Clans are weakening." He snorted dismissively. "Life-partners? That is a romantic dream that weakens a people, with the stronger bloodlines becoming contaminated by weaker ones."

He looked Kadaj, thinking deeply in his chair, in the eyes again. "We have been so successful there is no longer a need for the selections of partners – any Flame may now choose any other without needing concern for the strength of the child. Any Flame may fight alongside any other and both will perfectly compliment and protect each other. Our Clan is ready for war."

"And with me Safe, you have your second leader," Kadaj said slowly, piecing things together.

Sephiroth nodded, smirking. "Indeed. We will take the other Clans totally by surprise – and even if they mobilise faster than expected, they no longer have any hope of winning."

Kadaj smirked. "When do we begin?"

Laughing softly, Sephiroth shook his head. "I mean to start the first stage of our plan at once." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands again, eyes shining. "How would you feel at having the Star-Prince Cloud?"

A jolt of liquid lust ran through the Flame-Prince, eyes darkening in anticipation at the thought. His hands clenched as he pictured it in his mind's eye – the angel-haired Star, naked and panting in Kadaj's bed, Loz and Yazoo holding him down for their Prince, maybe even tracing lines of bright blood on that innocent-pale skin as Kadaj tore into him, hard and rough.

He didn't need to answer – his father read his feelings in his face, nodding with a dark smirk. "As I thought." He sat back in his chair. "I shall make an offer for him on your behalf immediately. Either way, this will work perfectly for us – if they refuse, we have an excuse to start the war at once for the insult; and if they accept, as I have little doubt they will, then we will have a stronger leader."

For a moment, Kadaj let his father's words sink in, before his eyes widened. "Cloud is unSafe? You would have me steal his starfire?"

Sephiroth smirked again. It was answer enough, and Kadaj bit back a groan as his fantasy changed: Cloud, eyes wide with fear, writhing in an attempt to get away from the burning pain inside him, turning his face away in shame as Kadaj taught him how to moan and whimper.

The Witch-King, still smiling darkly, waved his hand to dismiss his son. "Now go – I have work to do."

Grinning, Kadaj swung out of his seat, flitting to the door with that wild rush of power, still so new to him. But he paused as he opened the door, hesitating a moment before looking back over his shoulder at his King.

"What Clan did Jenova come from?" He asked quietly, suddenly serious.

The same expression crossed Sephiroth's face, like a darting bird. "The Star-Clan. She was their true Crown-Heir, cast out because her people feared her."

Kadaj nodded slowly, thinking. "So Cloud is…?"

"Your very distant cousin," Sephiroth finished, nodding. "And the descendant of our ancestor's killer."

Kadaj cocked his head at his father.

"Jenova was killed by her brother, the Witch who became King when she was exiled," Sephiroth explained quietly, eyes flashing.

The Prince nodded slowly, swinging the door open. "I'll see you at the evening meal?"

Sephiroth nodded, falling silent, and, aware of the atmosphere in the room, Kadaj slipped out, thoughts whirling in his mind.

)0(

The moment he stepped out of the study, Loz and Yazoo stepped into place beside him, Loz to the left and Yazoo on his right. The silver-haired trio made their way almost silently through the large house, ignoring the lush furnishings and respectfully quiet servants they passed.

Kadaj didn't see his escorts exchange glances, the emotions so hidden no one outside of the three would have seen the worry or concern at all. He was lost within his musings, statements and corrections to his life-long assumptions whirling like winds in his mind.

It was a well-known fact that the Fire-Clan came to be because there had been Witches who didn't agree with the Laws. As Sephiroth said – strong Witches, powerful Witches. Dark Witches that wanted free reign for their magik, not having to hide in plain sight with the humans. Witches that held nothing but contempt for their race's magik-less cousins.

But Kadaj had been taught that those Witches walked away of their own free will – turned their backs on their Clans and banded together to form what would become the third Clan, clawing the Southern Territory for their own: the boundary marked in a slightly wavering line from Bristol in the west, up and along to Colchester, and a little further on until it met the coast.

Their kingdom, from what had once been a single clearing in the centre of the New Forest.

The Prince frowned as he walked, sword swinging at his hip, unaware of his guard's eyes roving over his lithe form.

Only those Witches _hadn't_ gone of their own free will. They'd been _cast out_, sentenced to exile and a hoped-for death. And therein lay the difference.

Family. Clan. Bond of the Phoenix. It was so ingrained in him – as a Witch, as a Flame, as a Prince – that he could no more even _dream_ of being away from his people than he could force himself not to breathe. Even at the thought, a shudder of fear ran through him, ice trickling down his spine, and his arms came up instinctively, hugging himself, forgetting the two pairs of watching eyes, forgetting that a Prince must always be strong.

Outcast. Exile. Without his family. Not just his father – but Loz, Yazoo, Tseng, Scarlet, Reeve, Rufus…Everyone. _Witches_. _His_ Witches; his Clan, his people. To be without them…

He shuddered, shivering again as his legs went weak with fear, bile burning his throat. No. No, he would never survive being alone.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his upper arm, jerking it from where he hugged his chest, and before he could make a sound he was whirled around to face Loz. He barely had a chance to breathe before the ice-haired Witch crashed their mouths together, his right hand darting up his Prince's skull, fisting in the silver hair as he adjusted the angle.

Kadaj gasped, his arms curling around Loz' neck, right hand seeking out the black tattoo emblazoned there, tracing it with leather-clad fingertips, smirking as the older warrior groaned against his mouth, tugging his head further to the side as Loz's tongue lapped at his lips, demanding entrance.

And he got it – his Prince's mouth parted with a moan as another pair of arms circled Kadaj's hips, another hot, wet mouth latching onto his neck, longer silver hair brushing across his bare throat.

Loz broke away from their Prince, smirking at the flushed, panting Witch pinned between the two warriors, silver hair still clenched in Loz's fist. Yazoo's eyes met his as the other guard nuzzled Kadaj's throat, tearing a startled gasp from the royal as he bit down, pressing flush to the younger Witch's back.

"Bedroom. Now." Loz ordered, nipping at the other side of Kadaj's throat as he ground his hips into his Prince's, tightening his grip on the hair in his hand as the youngest of them moaned, arching into the touch.

It was Yazoo's magik that replaced them in the Prince's bedchamber, the older Witches sharing thoughts as Loz tossed Kadaj down on the bed, stripping off his leather armour as the Prince watched from the already rumpled sheets, panting and lust-eyed.

_We'll never let him be alone, will we?_ Yazoo questioned as he crawled to the Prince, straddling him as their mouths met with a heated groan, Kadaj bucking his hips, summoning a smirk from the older Witch. _Not when he's so afraid of being alone._

Inside the other's mind, Loz snorted. _He was thinking so loudly you'd have to be deaf not to hear him!_ He answered, crossing to kiss the back of Yazoo's neck, frowning at the still-clothed body, running his hands up and down the leather-skinned hips. _Clothes. Off. Now. _

He could feel Yazoo roll his eyes as he fell on his back beside Kadaj, pulling the silver zipper down slowly, feeling Loz's eyes on him, smirking. _I'm not the only one not naked, Loz._

Growling, the oldest of the three pounced Kadaj, silencing his shocked cry with his mouth, hands sliding down his form, coaxing shivers from the pale body as he slowly unzipped the leather armour, one arm crossed over the Prince's chest to keep him pinned. In a moment, Yazoo rejoined them, pressing light kisses along Loz's spine, fingers trailing his hips.

"Are you still all right with this, Prince?" Yazoo asked quietly, voice barely audible over said Witch's gasping moans as he bucked into Loz's ministrations. "It doesn't frighten you?"

Kadaj groaned, body arching like a bow off the bed. "Yazoo, Loz, as your Crown-Prince, I _order _you to fuck me _now!_"

The other two Witches exchanged grins, before moving in to obey their Prince.

_No, Yazoo,_ Loz said quietly inside their minds as Yazoo swapped positions with him, rolling Kadaj onto his side so they could share the Fire-Prince. _We won't leave him alone._

_Ever._

Yazoo reached over Kadaj to brush his mouth over Loz's for a moment, before returning to their heated Prince.

_Good._


	3. Gemini

**And chapter three, posted for your pleasure. Kinda boring, but much needed info is here. I promise chapter four is MUCH more interesting. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Disclaimer and summary with first chapter. Enjoy!**

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Chapter Three – Gemini 

North London

Reno glared at the humans that stared at his bright red hair, idly fingering the daggers hidden under his jacket, tucked comfortingly into his belt. He grinned as each flustered human looked sharply away, trying to look as though they _hadn't_ just been outright gawking at his totally-natural hair colour.

Beside him, Cid rolled his eyes, chewing on a toothpick as his eyes scanned the surrounding buildings. Both wore high-necked jumpers, hiding the top points of their Star-tattoos from watching eyes, the sparkling emerald and violet pentagram stretching over their backs. It was risky coming to London at all, but the fact that they were here to, effectively, steal mortal-born Witches made it all the more dangerous. Though Reno was obliviously chattering about some Clan gossip – how the man ever became joint-leader of the Angels Cid would never know – the older Witch couldn't help keep his guard up, scanning the surrounding crowd for anyone he might recognise.

"Why the hell am I doing this anyway?" Reno complained, kicking at a pebble on the ground. "Any Witch in the country is going to recognise me with _this_," he went on, tugging at his burning red pony-tail. "Wouldn't it be safer to send someone else?"

Cid hummed meaninglessly, checking the street signs for the right address. "But you're one of the best with the kiddies, aren't cha?"

"Tifa's just as good," Reno pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"But she's on the rota to watch Cloud this week," Cid snapped, his temper finally getting the better of him. "So shut up and deal with it. Let's make this quick – we've got two more orphanages after this one to check, and I don't want to be here any longer than we have to."

"Why are you so nervous anyway?" Reno asked, cocking his head at the older warrior. "We've done this so many times, and nothing's ever happened – "

Cid whirled on him, shoving his finger roughly against Reno's chest. "Because we're in fucking Fire-Clan territory, all right? And if the bastards _ever_ find out we were on their land, we're worse than dead. So let's do our job and get the fuck outa here, ok?"

He turned back to storm down the street, Reno following a little way behind. His Witch-sharp ears could hear the red-head muttering under his breath; the occasional derogatory term and swear-word was just about audible over the noise of the city.

Suddenly, Cid stopped, so quickly the other Witch walked straight into him, the protruding hilts of his daggers bashing into Cid's back as he stumbled, reaching for Cid's arm as he fell.

The other warrior ignored him, eyes scanning the building in front of the pair. The three story house was surprisingly well-cared for, a pleasant rejection of the stereotype they came across so often. The red brick complimented the wire boxes of flowers hanging down from either side of the door, window boxes of violets placed on most of the window-ledges. The brass plaque on the wall, declaring the _St. Christopher's Orphanage_, was brightly polished.

"It's not half-bad, really," Reno commented, reclaiming his balance to look the building up and down.

Cid only grunted, pushing open the low gate to walk up the path to the door, Reno muttering quietly as he followed the other Witch.

)0(

"And these are our teenagers," the brunette woman continued, smiling brightly as she led them into another room.

Neither Cid nor Reno had particularly high hopes as they were shown into the larger 'playroom', done in various shades of blue. For one, finding a human-born Witch – a Witch born to a human family – was incredibly rare. The Shadow scholar Zexion had theorised that all human-born Witches were the results of a Witch-Human pairing somewhere along the line – and since the last one of _those_ anyone had ever heard about was a bedtime story…

And even if there had been a human-born somewhere in this place, thirteen and above was too old. Human-borns were often in psychiatric hospitals by their teens, having lost their minds trying to come to terms with their powers everyone assured them didn't exist. They got caught out _long_ before their teens. Mum and dad tend to realise there's something up with their precious darling when their five-year-old is bringing her teddy bears to life and making them sing nursery rhymes before bed.

As Cid struck up a conversation with their guide – a brunette woman by the name of Clara – Reno lazily scanned the six or seven teenagers scattered around the room. Three – two boys and a girl, all around thirteen or fourteen – were gathered around the television, the two boys lying on the floor. A pair of sixteen year old girls were sitting together at the table, doing homework, the black-haired girl explaining something in a soft voice to her friend.

Electric. Powerful. The air thrumming with tension, like the split second before lightning strikes.

His head whirled suddenly, following the magnetic pulsing in his blood. Another pair, boys this time, sitting together away from the rest, curled up on a pale blue couch, silent and watchful.

The Witch's eyes snapped onto them, frowning. He would have placed them at about fifteen – but the cinnamon-haired one could have been younger, fourteen or thirteen, maybe. Heck, he'd have said twelve if Clara hadn't told them all the kids in here were teens. The blonde one looked…stronger, his hand running absently through the other's hair, face set in a determined frown. The other boy had his head in the blond's lap, bright blue eyes staring blankly at the wall opposite, expression empty.

Reno's eyes narrowed, head cocking to one side. He'd made joint-Archangel when he was nineteen, and in the five years he'd been doing this job he'd only seen that expression twice. But it isn't something he could forget. The blank eyes, empty of hope and trust in the world around them. Having been shown that the world isn't real, that all the rules and laws and facts and statements are false, just make-up for the bare, harsh truth of reality.

Blood-Witches grew up with that knowledge. Revelled in it. Loved it. Magik was a part of them, something as natural and necessary as breath, as breathing. Blood-Witches knew the truth, lived the truth with every waking and dreaming moment, with every breath and every heart-beat.

Human-borns didn't. They lived inside the lie – and when it was ripped away from them, the sudden light hurt their eyes.

He glanced over at Cid; and, when the older warrior caught his look, he nodded towards the two boys.

Cid's gaze slid over to them, briefly ignoring the human woman; and then he nodded slightly, letting Reno know he knew.

The red-head stepped towards Clara, plastering a fake, polite smile across his features. "Miss? Could we talk…privately?"

For a moment, the brunette seemed startled, and Reno resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The woman's mouth opened and closed like a fish as she looked from Reno to Cid and back again, slowly moving to the door. "Of course, sir."

Behind her back, Reno gave into temptation and rolled his eyes at Cid.

The warrior was still chuckling as they left the room.

)0(

Cid wasn't one to waste words.

"The two boys in the corner. When did they come in?"

Reno always wondered under what façade the two travelled as they scanned through the country's orphanages and foster homes. Inspectors? No one would believe it of either of them. Between his hair and Cid's toothpicks… Prospective parents? There was a limit to how far he was willing to go for his job, and pretending to be Cid's husband crossed that line.

He heard something about "found last night…" "…taken to a hospital this morning…" "…no explanation…" "…very strange, haven't said a word except to…" But Cid was nodding slowly, frowning as he took it all in, and so Reno let his eyes wander, his mind back in the playroom with the two boys, toying with the sharp differences between the two: the blond, strong and hard, determined not to let the world break him; and the cinnamon-haired boy, sad and tired and wishing it was all a dream.

The red-head was jerked out of his thoughts by Cid's hand on his arm, tugging the other Witch to the door. Clara was already gone, and Reno didn't pretend to mourn her absence.

"What was all that about, anyway?" He asked as Cid walked through the door without holding it for him, letting it close in time to smack Reno's elbow. He winced, but didn't comment, knowing all it would get him was a smirk and a lecture on the 'weakness of Angels today, always needing to be fucking babied,'.

Cid jerked his thumb back at the house as they strode down the street. "Two boys, showed up on the doorstep last night. Claim they're twins, but have no memories of what happened to them – or so they claim. First thing this morning, they get taken over to the nearest hospital, but there's no reason the doctors can find for the amnesia, though the tests agree with the statements that they're twins, aging them at about fifteen."

Reno nodded, stepping out of the pathway of a human mother on the war-path, tugging along a crying toddler behind her. "Do they remember their names?"

"The blond kid's Roxas, the other's Sora," Cid told him, turning a corner. "Won't talk to anyone, though they've been seen talking to each other, real quiet in that corner. Won't eat, don't move much, refuse to separate." Cid met his eyes. "Some bitch tried to, declaring they'd adjust better if they were separated."

The Archangel grinned. "What happened?"

Cid bit back a smirk. "Her hair caught fire. They've no idea how it happened, since both boys were on the other side of their room with empty hands and there were only a couple of adult workers in there with them."

Reno grinned, but the smile faded as he thought the statement through, mind quickly working on the facts. The kids had appeared together out of no where, possibly with no memory of anything but their names and their relationship. The threat of separation would have been more than enough for one of the twins to tap into his magik and release it uncontrollably, the power shaping itself to the boy's emotions to create the fire.

"No wonder the bitch got burned," he muttered to himself. "Poor kids must be freaking out."

Cid shook his head as they passed through the crowds. "Not if they have their memory. It's possible we've got a case Orange here, ya know."

Reno raised an eyebrow. "Kids abandoned after dear old mum and dad were forced to face up to the family secret?"

"That's the one," Cid said, nodding. "Parents might have known there was Witch-blood in the family – and when little Roxas and Sora started settin' stuff on fire…" He shrugged. "Got mad at having to face up to the truth – that their kids weren't all human – and chucked 'em out."

The other Witch cocked his head. "Maybe. It might explain Roxas's obvious protectiveness of his brother – if he's slipped into the parental role already…" He shook his head. "But I don't think so. The look on Sora's face…I don't think they're lying about the amnesia."

Glancing at him, frowning, Cid shrugged. "Whatever. Either way, we gotta get back home and report to Cloud. See what he wants to do – if he wants the kids or not."

"Hmm," Reno muttered, thinking. Human-born Witches were hard – you had to teach them a whole new way of life. They had to learn – and accept – the Laws, had to be taught the culture, had to be adopted into first a Clan, then a family within it. They had to train, both with weapons and with magik. And throughout their lives, they had to be stronger, faster, smarter; had to be an asset. Because there would always be Witches who would look at them and say _tainted-human-blood-weak-worthless-animal._ Cloud might decide not to take them in. "We should mention it at council. Those kids were _strong_."

"Or one of 'em, anyway," Cid countered as they rounded another corner, passing yet another statue to some human politician. "But yeah. We'll mention it."

(0)

Sora's eyes fluttered closed as the door shut, relaxing a little. His head slumped on his brother's lap, a hand reaching up to curl around Roxas's knee, white-knuckled tight, pulling them closer.

Instinctively, Roxas's other hand joined his right in Sora's hair, gently weaving through the spiky locks as he thought, a light frown etched between his brows.

)0(

_Fire. Smoke. People screaming, people running. Sora's hand in his, his twin's terrified eyes almost as burning as the flames around them. The band of braided gold around Sora's brow shines like fire as they run through smoke-choked hallways._

_Someone screaming their names, but they don't stop. Sora's grip on his hand just tightens, and they almost fly through the corridors._

)0(

_Roxas?_

The blond looked down at his apparently sleeping twin. _Yeah?_

For a moment, his brother said nothing, just snuggling closer.

_Was that a memory?_

_I think so. I…I don't know. Do you remember anything like that?_

Sora shook his head, cheek brushing against the denim of his brother's jeans. _No. But I remember faces, people that scared me._

Roxas tugged Sora's hair gently. _Show me?_

His twin said nothing, but the memory flowed like water between their minds, revealing itself like a flower opening to the sun.

)0(

_A breach in a wall, a huge wall that might ring a mansion or castle. Fire, smoke staining the sky black – but its night anyway, the grounds suffused with darkness. _

_Men and women pour through the hole in the wall, bearing swords, spears, gleaming things of silver and metal that are eager for blood. Their faces twisted in war cries, cutting down any that stand in their way. They wear midnight blue, but the soldiers coming from the huge house behind them are garbed in forest-green, and they clash in a mesh of blood and screams and flashing metal, an explosion of electric, thrumming power that's like a shockwave through the air._

_A group of blues spots them. One of them points, saying something to the ones around him in a language they can't understand, but they turn and run, run away from these men with their hard eyes and blood-stained mouths, with their blades stained in their kin's blood. _

_Running, running._

)0(

Neither of them said anything for a moment, but Roxas's mind was whirling, and he was sure Sora's was too. Where were they in the memories? Someplace under attack, at least…And who were the two coloured groups, the blues and the greens? Why did the Sora in the memory wear a gold band?

What did it _mean_?

_Roxas?_

_Yep?_

Sora hesitated. _Those men that came in earlier…They felt like the soldiers. _

Roxas nodded, even knowing Sora couldn't see it, lying in his lap as he was. _The power. Like the air before a storm. Yeah, they felt like that._

_What does it mean?_

_I don't know, Sora. Maybe nothing. _Roxas tried to reassure his brother, stroking his skull softly.

_I don't think so,_ Sora whispered inside their minds. _I think it means everything. _


	4. Meeting of the Clans

Hey everyone! This took a while, and I'm not really happy about it, but there you go. If anyone wants to beta, pls contact me! I think I really need one…

Enjoy!

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Chapter Four – Meeting of the Clans

Peak District

A tall pillar of rock shattered, exploding into shards of stone that flew in all directions, the thick beam of pale jade light scattering into star-shine sparks, bouncing off the surroundings.

The Prince of Stars stood straight and tall behind the disc-like shield protecting him from the blast, not even flinching at the destruction, his hands still glowing with winding ribbons of light, emerald heat that writhed over his fingers like silken snakes. The shockwave ruffled his golden hair, but nothing harmed him.

As the dust cleared away, the shimmering disc shuddered out of existence, leaving Cloud behind, frowning and frustrated. From her position lounging on the thick branch of a tree, Tifa leapt down to the ground gracefully, carefully watching her Prince for a reaction.

Cloud ignored her until she lightly punched his shoulder, glaring at the concerned Archangel.

"What?" He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She could see the tension coiled just under his skin, though she was thankful to notice the bands of light winding about his fingers melted back into him through the black leather of his gloves. "What is it, Tifa?"

She frowned at him, tapping his upper arm pointedly. "We need to get back. You've been doing this for hours, Cloud, and it's not going to help. Knowing you," she went on, ignoring her Prince's open mouth, "you're ready to drop and just won't admit it. You need to get back, change, and get ready to make nice with the other Clan leaders."

The Prince glared at her for a moment, but she met his deceptive angel-blue eyes calmly until he looked away with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think I can do it, Tifa."

She cocked her head, silently waiting.

He looked back at her. "How am I supposed to walk into the Meet now? Knowing Sephiroth probably ordered Aerith's murder? Knowing half the Witches in there think I'm an unfit leader?" He shook his head slowly, the spikes of his hair whispering softly. "I can't even keep up with my training."

Tifa stepped forward, wrapping her Prince in a hug.

Startled, Cloud froze for a second, before he hesitantly hugged her back, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

"This should be you walking in there today, not me," he said softly, and she knew his eyes were closed against the strengthening threat of tears.

"What?" She asked, startled, looking up at him as she pulled back. "What are you talking about?"

He stared at her, as if he couldn't believe what she was saying, before he laughed. It was shaky and hysterical and tinged with just a little threat of breaking, of being broken, but he couldn't stop, clutching his sides as tears gathered in the corners of the sapphire-eyes.

"He…He never said!" He gasped, almost crying, and Tifa was scared. She'd never seen Cloud like this before – half laughing and half crying, never seen him just _snap_ – and she had no idea what to do.

She stiffened as Cloud choked out,

"You were supposed to be Queen, Tifa!"

"_What?!_" The Archangel gaped at her Prince, eyes wide.

Cloud nodded, hysteria still painted across his features. "Zack. Zack's life-partner. Who else could it be but you?" He choked up. "You would have been Queen by now if he was still alive, you know that?"

Abruptly, he sobbed, eyes closing as tears trickled down his face, and Tifa was appalled. "I still – I still have the ring he was going to give you. It's in my desk at home. Silver and emerald, diamond – he got it four days before he disappeared."

_Oh my god. _Tifa felt her knees go weak, her hand going up to her hair, running through it as she shook. _Oh my god._

_Zack…_

There had been four heirs to the Star-Clan crown, originally. Five if you counted Vincent.

Cloud. The blond warrior, preferring the open spaces of the mountains and moors to the claustrophobic clutches of the Clan-Home. Second-in-line, the quiet, strong Prince that saw no need to hover anxiously around the crown no one ever thought would be his.

Aerith, the earth-loving Princess that was always happy to get down in the dirt with the servants, carefully growing blossoms from all over the world in her magik-saturated gardens down by the south wall. If she wasn't in her low-walled gardens, then she would be in the Healer's Quarters, learning the uses of the plants she grew in the art of saving lives.

Riku, the youngest, the Prince that showed no interest in the weapons of his people, in the welcoming arms of the warriors he was expected to join. If he wasn't off Clan-Home grounds as often as Cloud, then it was only just – the silver-haired boy easily losing the trailing escorts and leaping the boundary wall, disappearing for hours only to return, face muddied and grinning, to his panicking tutors and servants, perfectly fine and with dozens of stories to tell his sister when he helped her in her gardens.

And Zack. The Crown-Heir. The black-haired warrior, expertly skilled with a sword and with magik, never beaten in the training grounds since he was seventeen. He was smart, he was talented, he understood his people and what they wanted.

He _was_ everything they wanted.

And then he vanished. The night before his twenty-first birthday ball, where he was to announce the other person featuring in his recently-arrived life-dreams.

No note. No message. No clue.

No Zack.

The Crown-Heir to the Star-Clan disappeared. There was uproar – they searched for months, hunting without consideration for borders, territories. Star-Clan land, Shadow-territory, the Southern Kingdom – none of it mattered.

But they couldn't find him. Either he had turned his life-time of training to the art of staying hidden – or he was dead.

Nine months after he disappeared, Cloud was declared Crown-Heir.

Tifa stared at her Prince, the blond with his eyes closed and his breath slowing, getting back in control.

This was the final confirmation that Zack was dead. She'd wondered why her own life-dreams hadn't started yet – she was twenty, a year older than Cloud, and they should have started months ago at the latest.

But her life-partner was dead. She would never have those dreams.

Quietly, Tifa crossed the small space between herself and her Prince, kneeling down to grasp his shoulder gently. She smiled softly at the still tearful sapphire eyes met hers. She could cry at the realisation later – but right now, her Prince needed her.

"Come on, Cloud," she said quietly, pulling him up. "We have to get back."

Isle of Man

"My lord, I have no doubt the others will be arriving soon."

The Prince of Shadows paused in his restless stalking up and down the room to glare at the unperturbed Xemnas, who continued reading his book, idly turning a rustling page.

Axel snorted, looking away as he continued his pacing. His hands flicked, clenching and opening again, flames crawling up his wrist from his elbow, sleeving his arms in flame that abruptly flickered out.

From his position leaning against the opposite wall, Luxord suppressed a smirk as he watched his Prince. This was Axel's first Clan-Meet since his father died, leaving the Prince leader of the Clan, if not yet King. The first time he would have to actively participate in the conferences and discussions – and with a temper to match his burning-coloured hair, it was understandable that he was nervous at upsetting the delicate political balance between the three peoples.

The door opened, and all heads turned, Axel's emerald green silk shirt rustling as his eyes narrowed, but quickly dismissing – just another of his guards.

Grinning, Larxene slipped inside, her wasp-like hair brushing the sides of the doorway as she crossed to speak quietly to Xemnas, face abruptly becoming serious. Luxord wondered what they were discussing, but before he had a chance to go and join the conversation the lightning-wielder nodded, quickly shadow-shifting, vanishing in a sudden writhing of ebony shadows that curled around her in an instant, dissolving as she disappeared.

Xemnas pointedly closed his book, the small red volume following Larxene's example with a small cloud of darkness. "The Flames approach."

Silently nodding, Axel and Luxord switched positions, the Prince taking a seat at the large round table, white marble blending in with the rest of the stark white chamber. The Shadows had been here for almost an hour now – but theirs was the Northern Kingdom, and the Isle of Man wasn't overly far from the Clan-Home in the Scottish highlands.

Axel watched the door, shifting warily in his cold marble chair. There was a place to either side of him for Xemnas and Xigbar – his second in command and his War-Master – but they weren't sitting there now and he couldn't help feeling nervous. It didn't help that all he could focus on was his life-dream from the night before – the sky-eyed blond had been asleep in sparse surroundings, curled up with a boy that might have been his brother. The scene had pulsed with sadness, with loneliness, and he woke up crying, snapping at Demyx to leave him alone when his escort asked what was wrong.

He sighed. He had to remember to apologise for that…

The door opened, and Axel's head shot up, jade-fire eyes narrowing at the sight of the only Witch-King still alive –

Sephiroth.

The King was quickly followed by his son, the Fire-Prince Kadaj, and even from where he was sitting across the room Axel's eyes widened, leaning back in his chair. _Woa._

Kadaj had _not_ been that strong at the last Meet. His power pulsed out into the room, freely, without reign, shivering through everyone it came into contact with. Axel shuddered at the silky-smooth feel of it, brushing softly over his skin before vanishing, recalled into Kadaj's body.

Newly Safe, then. Experienced Witches kept their power hidden, so an enemy couldn't know how strong they were. Kadaj obviously didn't know how to do that yet…

Axel's eyes immediately looked past Kadaj, eyes scanning the King and Prince's escorts, looking for the Fire-Prince's life-partner. Whoever it was should be right behind Kadaj, probably wearing a ring…

No one. Only the silver-haired escorts, Loz and Yazoo, as faithfully close to their Prince as always.

Axel bit back a wav of nausea. No life-partner…? He felt sick, made to get up. He might need to excuse himself for a moment…He really thought he was gonna hurl.

"Greetings, your Highness."

Sephiroth smirked down at him, gloved hand extended in greeting. Axel felt Luxord's presence behind him, and from the corner of his eye he saw Xigbar taking the seat to his left. "Welcome to the Meet, Witch-King," he said, trying to fake a smile.

The King of Flames turned slightly, gesturing for Kadaj to come over. As Kadaj, followed by his escorts – were the two puppies or something? – crossed the room quickly filling with conversation, Axel felt his smile freeze.

_Oh no. I'm gonna be sick…_

Bile rose in his throat, burning and scorching, as Kadaj smiled, just a tad too little warmth to be real. "Good to see you again, Axel."

"And you, Kadaj," he said, trying not to choke. The Fire-Prince's magik seemed cloying and tainted now as it throbbed in the air – corrupted and decaying. Foul. He didn't want to ask, but if he didn't it would be an insult. "Will we meet your life-partner today?"

Kadaj exchanged glances with his father, and it was Sephiroth that answered. "I'm afraid not."

Axel expected some elaborate lie, but it didn't come. The Witch-King seemed not to care at the rumours that would fly through the Clans when the news got out – and the fact that most of them would probably be spot on meant nothing to him.

_Of course not, _Axel muttered inside his head, smiling as the Flames excused themselves, going over to greet the just-arrived Stars. _Your life-partner is unavailable for comment because she/he doesn't _exist

Xemnas smoothly slid into the seat at his right, and, without mentioning the sickening sensation in his stomach, Axel quietly discussed the topics to be brought up with the other two Clans with his second in command and Xigbar.

(0)

Riku looked around the huge room carefully, clear aqua eyes taking in everything they saw. He recognised Axel, the Shadow-Prince's red hair scorching and bright in the polished white chamber, and he wondered if he would be allowed to leave the main body of Stars to go and talk to him.

One glance to the left answered that question.

Vincent glanced to his younger cousin as Riku stiffened, gaze locked on something to their left, and, frowning, his claret-coloured eyes slid across the room to see what was bothering the Prince so.

Instantly, his face became an emotionless mask, sliding into stone as he moved slightly in front of Riku, arms crossing over the red velvet cloak, the material shifting to reveal the long, glinting gold of his elbow-length glove, claws like daggers shining wickedly in the light from the still-open door.

The movement caught the attention of the Angels ringing the Heirs; and as they, too, spotted the threat they fanned out, subtly moving into a more defensive position. Riku glanced quickly at Tifa, the black-haired woman already at Cloud's side, before looking back at the approaching Flames.

"Vincent," Sephiroth greeted, nodding gracefully as he extended a hand to the Third Heir. "It has been some time."

"Indeed," Vincent answered tonelessly, ignoring the hand in favour of meeting the Witch-King's eyes with his blood-tinted ones. "And I see your son has become Safe." His gaze slid past the father to rest upon the Prince of Flames, who, to Riku's surprise, met the bloodied ice gaze calmly, without quailing.

Sephiroth looked past the Third Heir, elemental-bright green eyes sweeping over the pack of Stars, dark amusement curling over them all as Kadaj's magik once again pulsed into the room uncontrollably.

Safe? Riku ignored the Witch-King, sure he would try nothing before the assembled Clans, instead looking to Kadaj. The Prince of Flames was without his two guards, and from the corner of his eye Riku could see them over in a corner, talking quietly to each other, occasionally looking to the confrontation taking place near the doorway. The one with the shorter hair – Loz? – frowned suddenly, making to step forward, but the other placed a light hand on his arm, mouth forming quick, darting words inaudible over the conversations going on throughout the rooms.

Riku cocked his head, thinking, but his attention snapped back to the present as Sephiroth brushed past Vincent without another word, long hair whispering down his back over the black robes, open to his waist to bare his defined chest. The ruby and gold flame embroidery at his cuffs flickered in the light as he stood, arms crossed, in front of Cloud.

The Crown-Heir of the Stars stiffened, tensing up as the Witch-King towered over him, a dark smirk flickering over his mouth as the emerald, cat-like eyes looked him up and down slowly. It wasn't hard to see how threatened he felt by the stronger Witch's proximity, by the calculating stare that roved over his body, as if the King was guessing how much it would cost to buy him – and beneath that, the nerves and shaky tension, was the smouldering anger and heart-felt fury summoned by the knowledge that their sister's funeral pyre was still smoking on Star-Clan grounds.

Riku glanced to the Angels, but even Tifa stood still, making no move to do anything, and, when he looked at him, Vincent seemed like a statue, eyes locked on Kadaj as if daring him to make a wrong move.

And then Riku looked again, startled.

The silver-haired Prince of Flames was staring at Cloud too, eyeing him almost…hungrily, his ice-green eyes mentally stripping him of the leather dress-armour, silver wolves snarling at the watching Witches. The newly-Safe Witch's magik throbbed through the air, slimy silk that made Riku shudder, taking an involuntary step away from the Fire-Prince.

The movement summoned Kadaj's attention, those ice-shard eyes slipping on to him instead. Riku lifted his chin, staring back defiantly, pouring his hatred into his eyes.

_Your people killed my sister,_ he hissed inside his head, careful not to accidentally create a mental-link. _Aerith is _dead_ because of you and your family – and no one else might have noticed, but I don't think its coincidence that she was murdered just before a Meet, you bastard. You're planning something, and you want Cloud all shaken up and not thinking straight._

_So what the hell is it?_

Kadaj cocked his head at the younger Prince, but if he guessed at Riku's thoughts he said nothing, only a slight frown marring his features.

Abruptly, Sephiroth reached out to touch Cloud's cheek, gloved fingers running lightly across the cheekbone, ignoring the outrage splashed across the watching faces. Riku moved to stop him, rage boiling in his stomach like writhing snakes – but he stopped, shocked, when he saw Sephiroth's expression.

The Witch-King stared as though entranced, as if he didn't remember the dozens of Witches surrounding him, watching as his hand trailed over the Prince's cheek, lightly cupping his chin for a moment. Lightning-green eyes seemed to pin Cloud in place, the Star-Prince staring up helplessly into Sephiroth's gaze, and Riku felt a shudder of rage.

As he stepped forward, magik curling down his arm to sleeve his skin in star-shine jade, a snarl crossing his lips like a mask, he was the only one close enough to hear the Witch-King's whispered words, and they were enough to make his magik vanish, snuffed out like a candle in the rain.

Tifa, whirling, caught his elbow as his knees gave out, almost sending him to the floor as horror coiled through him, ice-cold wire that wrapped around him tightly, cutting off his air.

"_You look just like your brother, Cloud…"_

(0)

Sephiroth's eyes were so green…Swirling, electric colour, spirals that drew him inside like the sea, deceptively beautiful…

Cloud blinked as the words entered his mind, whispers like soft velvet.

_You look just like your brother, Cloud…_

Sephiroth abruptly let his hand fall, turning on his heel to return to his own Clan. Silver hair falling in starlight waves down his back, Kadaj slipping into place beside him. Witches all around the room, seeing the two royals approaching the Table, began to gather around the huge slab of round white marble, their voices lowering as they sensed the beginning of the Meet.

_Zack…_

Trembling, fighting back tears, Cloud turned slowly, blinking quickly, taking in Riku's look of horror and deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.

"He knows," Riku hissed, shoving himself away from Tifa's helping arms, jabbing his finger at Cloud. "He knows what happened to Zack, I know it!"

"What?" Vincent asked, slowly tearing his gaze away from Kadaj, the Fire-Prince taking his seat next to his father. "I don't know what you're talking about, Riku, but we don't have time for this. The Meet's about to start…"

Cloud saw he was right. Sephiroth and Kadaj were seated already, another silver-haired man – Loz, was it? – taking the hard chair on Sephiroth's left, his arms slipping into the natural grooves worn into the hard marble over the centuries. Across the table, Axel was already sitting too, Xemnas at his side. Xigbar was still talking to someone, a slate-haired boy who looked a little older than the Prince of Shadows, but it was obviously time to join the rest of the Clans.

_Don't think about it,_ he told himself fiercely, Tifa and Vincent falling into place on his left and right as they approached the Table, the commoner Witches scattered between the three main Seats – Sephiroth's, Axel's, and…

…And his.

_Don't think about how Zack should be the one doing this,_ he thought, taking his place among the Clans, seeing Riku take the seat on his right, left of Vincent. _Don't think about how you're not good enough, not strong enough…Nineteen and you haven't even started your dreams yet._

His eyes slid over to Tifa for a brief moment, feeling a pang in his chest. Not only had he and Riku – and Aerith, then – lost their big brother, but Tifa had lost her life-partner. She would never feel complete, never find the other half of her soul…

_It must have been her,_ he thought to himself, looking over the assembled Witches. _You always liked her, Zack…But why did you never say? I was there when you bought the ring – you said it would match perfectly, and I knew you meant the emerald would go with her hair…_

_Why did you never say, though? Why wait to announce it at a ball you never showed up to?_

He felt his eyes start to tear, and Riku glanced towards him suddenly, as the gong rang out over the chamber, silence falling. Beneath the table, he felt his brother's hand take his resting on the hard marble arm-rest, the smaller, pale hand curling protectively around his glove, squeezing lightly.

They couldn't look at each other in such a way now that the Meet had begun, but Cloud squeezed his brother's hand back, letting him know that the love Riku had for his big brother was two-way.

(0)

Axel sat back in his chair, bored out of his mind. His father had always been so strong, such a skilled leader, and everything he had ever done had looked so exciting to the little Shadow-Prince, too young to know better.

But this was just _boring_. The usual petty disputes – claims filed for more territory, hunting rights, apprenticeships…Any Witch from any Clan could stand before the Meet and ask a wish, but Axel was beginning to feel as though he would turn down anyone who asked just on principle.

Slowly, as the day wore on, and the flames flickering in his hands under the table grew larger and hotter, daringly winding up his arms so they were almost visible to others at the Table, the conversation moved onto Handfastenings.

He checked the elegant black-wood hourglass, standing on a plinth beside the bronze gong at the other end of the hall. Living roses curled up the carved wood, the smooth glass filled with grains of sparkling ebony sand. His eyes narrowed as he went back to playing with his fire, ignoring Xemnas' disapproving mutters beside him. It was a quarter until the Meet finished – the traditional time for Witches to make offers of marriage between Clans.

Sometimes, one half of a life-pair received their dreams before the other, instead of at the same time, as was normal. Since the Clans didn't interact more than could generally be helped – there were places up North so sacred to his Clan any Star or Flame that tried to pass the sentries were killed, without exception – Witches in this scenario made these offers at Meets, one of the few times you could do so without the risk of getting killed.

A handful of Stars offered marriage to the equal number of Shadows, a random mixture of homo and heterosexual pairings that summoned no raised eyebrows. Two Shadows asked for the hands of Stars – a woman with soft golden hair, and a boy barely older than he was, jade green hair streaked with ebony – both of whom looked as pleasantly surprised as the ones doing the asking when they were accepted.

It didn't escape his notice that no Flames made any such offers. His eyes slid over to Kadaj again, and he shuddered, ignoring a concerned glance from his second. He remembered hearing that the Fire-Clan didn't practice Handfastenings, the Witch marriage where the hands of two life-partners were bound together with silk rope, to signify the merging of their souls into one, beautiful crystalline teardrop of magik. Instead, they 'staked claims', and if their desires were accepted by their King and the one desired, then they formed temporary arrangements with each other. Sometimes a particularly beautiful Witch had several claims – and instead of the true life-partner being chosen, the claimants would _fight_, Witch against Witch! Not even for being the _only one_ chosen – but to be _first_!

It made him feel sick just thinking about it. How was it any better than selling your body, to let as many that wanted you…have you? To go before your King, and have him tell you whether your desired pairing would benefit the Clan? What the hell did that matter? There had been rumours about a breeding program among the Flames, but that was just _insane_ – no one could _breed_ Witches!

Could they?

The newly-paired Witches took their seats again, and Axel sighed in relief. Offers of marriage was the last thing on the agenda at a Meet – if there was nothing else, they could end it early, ignoring the trickle of sand still falling in the hourglass. But he hoped no one brought up anything suddenly – all business had to be finished before the last of the sand fell to the bottom…

Suddenly, Sephiroth stood, the Witch-King's presence instantly silencing the soft murmur of voices running around the Table. Hands squarely placed, his silver hair fell forward slightly, curtaining his face as startling green eyes swept over the assembled Clans.

"In keeping with the current mood of the Meet, I would like to make an offer."

Axel gasped, and he wasn't the only one – even Xemnas beside him sat stunned in his chair. Shock and confusion flit through the crowd like a wildfire, voices bursting out of the silence as though too large for it, whispering talking chattering gossiping debating, whatwhenwhy_who_.

This wasn't allowed. Axel's gaze met Xigbar's worriedly. Clan royals were not allowed to make offers of marriage. If the one offered to turned them down, it was an acceptable excuse to start a Witch-War…

Was that Sephiroth's plan? Choose someone he knew would turn him down?

"On the behalf of my son and heir, Kadaj," Sephiroth continued, ignoring the whispers.

At least the poor Witch, whoever she/he was, wouldn't be facing _Sephiroth_…

The Shadow-Prince's gaze ran over the faces crowded around the room. Who did Kadaj have in mind…? Maybe…Had be become Safe so as to have experience for his true life-partner…? It was still sick, but a little more understandable…

The Witch-King turned his head, hair billowing as he faced the royals of the Stars. "Crown-Prince Cloud, will you accept the offer of the Fire-Clan?"

(0)

_No._

Riku couldn't believe what he'd just heard, his fingers tightening reflexively on his brother's hand under the table, feeling Cloud tense and still as stone beside him.

_Shit, no!_

He saw the mouths of the Angels drop, saw his brother's people burst into outrage, saw them silence as they realised the position Cloud was now in. Saw them remember rumours, gossip, stories whispered in the dead of night around protective fires, about the green-eyed, angel-haired Witches of the Fire-Clan, the royals and those that served them.

The same stories that were running through his mind.

_The swirling silver and black tattoo on the back of a dead Witch, his armour torn from him, blood pooling on the ground, the puddle of carnelian staining Aerith's dress. Fire-Clan murderer._

_The smoke rising up from his sister's funeral pyre._

_The Witch-King's hand tracing Cloud's face, the Crown-Prince almost hypnotised by the touch._

"_You look just like your brother…"_

He couldn't let them take Cloud. He couldn't. Kadaj would steal his starfire, tear it from him with blood and screams, kill him in darkness. The Star-Clan would be without a Crown-Heir – Riku didn't even pretend to think he could ever succeed in his brother's place – and…

And Cloud would be doomed to never find his life-partner. Remain incomplete, his soul sentenced to exile on earth for eternity, never finding paradise.

He couldn't let that happen to Cloud. He _couldn't_. Zack and Cloud and Aerith had looked after him his whole life, raising him on their own after their parents died.

He hadn't been able to protect _them _in return. Zack. Aerith.

Not Cloud. _Not Cloud._

Trembling, forcing himself to clear his mind, not to think, he squeezed Cloud's hand, harder than he ever had before. Trying to say with touch what he couldn't with his voice, his throat choking up with all the words he'd never said.

_I love you, Cloud. _

He brushed the pad of his thumb over the back of Cloud's hand, where it wasn't covered by the fingerless gloves.

_Goodbye._

Before Cloud had a chance to decode his startling message, Riku let go, standing up suddenly.

"I offer to take his place."

* * *

AN Just in case it wasn't clear, Zack never told Cloud that Tifa was his life-partner. Just so you know. :) 


	5. Come For Me By Moonlight

**WOW, that's a long chapter…I had about a fifth of this written for AGES, and then today it all just…practically wrote itself. Yay for semi-conscious stories! )grin( ANYways, I'm very happy with this, so I hope you all enjoy! **

**For disclaimer/summary etc, see first chapter. **

* * *

Chapter Five – Come For Me By Moonlight

Isle of Man

There was uproar.

All across the chamber, even among those without a seat at Table, Witches were shouting, talking, yelling out their opinions as they strained to be heard. Some stood, pushing back their chairs with grating anger; the crackle of magik buzzed through the room, humming in their bones as spells, curses, hexes gathered in outstretched palms, ready for battle.

Even as the guards of all three Clans stepped forward from their positions, keeping their peace with their orders for silence, the quick flash of light charms that had people back in their seats, quietened, Kadaj didn't even blink.

But behind his eyes, his mind was whirling, thoughts flashing between himself and his father.

_Do we accept?_ He asked quickly, his body still, unmoving in the face of the chaos stretched almost equally throughout the three Clans. From the corner of his eye, he saw Loz straighten from where he had leaned against the wall, eyes flashing electric green, only for Yazoo to grab at his arm, shaking his head swiftly, looking past the stronger warrior to their Prince.

Sephiroth was silent for a moment. _I know how much you were looking forward to taking the Crown-Prince, Kadaj, but we risk jeopardising our plans if we decline this new offer. _Kadaj felt him grimace mentally. _Much as I hate to admit it, the tables have been turned. The Star-Clan would have been locked inside chaos without their Heir, but Riku cannot be much weaker than his brother – the difference to your power should be marginal at best. _

Quenching the pang of frustrated desire for the blond prince across the Table, Kadaj shrugged through the link. _Then accept his offer. He is not unattractive to look at, and as a Prince he should be strong enough for our purposes. _He smirked. _And there is no reason we cannot corner the Star-Heir on the battlefield, after all. _

Dark amusement filtered through the mind-link. _He would make a beautiful pleasure-slave, it must be said. Perhaps he and his brother could perform for us…_

The image of his father's pet wound about Cloud in the throes of sweat made Kadaj shiver, his eyes flickering open in time to hear his father.

"We accept the replacement, Princes of the Star-Clan. I would discuss the terms of the arrangements in private, if I may be so bold."

Sephiroth's eyes met Cloud's, a tight smirk barely flickering across his pale skin as he straightened, summoning the Fire-Clan guards to him with a causal flick of his wrist. "You may, of course, bring an escort."

_Would you have me present?_ Kadaj asked, staring across the Table at Riku, taking in the sight of the scared, determined star-haired Prince, drinking him in as the younger boy left the Table with his brother, Star-Clan Angels falling into place beside him.

_Of course,_ Sephiroth purred, eyes glinting as he gave orders for the Fire-Clan to return to the Southern Territory as the gong rang out over the Meet, the last grains of night-dust sand falling into the base of the Hourglass. _This does concern you, after all._

(0)

Cloud nodded coldly as Sephiroth rose from his seat, gesturing for the Angels to surround himself and his brother as they both stood up from the marble thrones.

Beside him, Riku stood stiff and straight, trembling slightly, and Cloud ached to take his little brother's hand and pull him in for an embrace, take the pain away and make everything all right again. Behind their royal progress, he could feel Axel's shocked gaze burning into his back, could hear the Fire-Clan leaving the Meet-House as two of Sephiroth's generals relayed the Witch-King's orders, and there were just too many people. He couldn't even _talk_ to Riku.

Tifa was grim-faced, directing the other Angels into position around the two Princes in fierce whispers as the Stars followed Sephiroth and his escort into a smaller hall off the main one. It looked more like a conference room than anything else, and as the Witch-King and his son took their seats, the Flames arranging themselves around their royals, Cloud managed to take Riku's hand under the cover of the table as they sat down, squeezing hard.

He wanted to tell Riku that he didn't have to do it. That Cloud would have been fine, was stronger than that, that the Clan would have flourished under Riku's care. That, even now, Cloud would stand up and change the terms, exchange himself for his brother.

But it would be lies. Riku wasn't made for the Crown, could never handle the responsibilities and duties that would fall to him with Cloud out of the picture. The Stars would fall from their ebony-night sky and into chaos, easily destroyed in whatever plot Sephiroth had up his sleeve. And even if Cloud would rather start a Witch-War than willingly hand his baby brother over to these monsters, he still remembered Vincent's words after the funeral.

_One life, no matter how royal, is not worth that of hundreds._ If he could fight a war on his own, he would rather die in darkness than let Fire-Clan hands touch Riku – but he couldn't sentence his people to a bloody death.

_I'm so, so sorry, Riku,_ he whispered inside his mind, hearing Riku take a deep, shuddering breath beside him, feeling a pang as Riku firmly, but regretfully, took his hand from Cloud. _Please forgive me for not being able. For not being strong enough._

_For not being your big brother._

"So how does this work, exactly?" Riku's voice only trembled a little as it rose over the tense silence, the silver-haired Star's arms crossing over his chest as he stared, apparently unconcerned, at the royal Flames across from him. "What terms are there to discuss?"

Sephiroth's expression didn't even flicker as his gaze slid away from Cloud to rest on Riku. "The three dates of a royal marriage, of course."

On his other side, Cloud felt Vincent tense. "Your suggestions, your Highness?"

The Witch-King seemed to ponder for a moment, frowning lightly. "By the Laws, the offered royal is taken to their new home on the night of the new moon, in the month in which the offer is made…"

He trailed off, eyes glittering as he watched the assembled Stars, the Angels muttering among themselves. Flickers of mental links could be seen out of the corner of an eye, shimmering like heat-haze between two Witches. The Fire-Prince's guards, Loz and Yazoo. Black-haired Tifa and Rude, Reno's second that had stepped in for him today.

The Witch-King and the Prince of Flames.

Cloud nearly jumped as he felt the silken whisper of a mind-link connect his thoughts to his cousins, barely managing not to make a fool of himself as Vincent's smooth, quiet voice entered his mind, a skilled advisor whose expertise his Prince so desperately needed right now.

_The new moon rises tonight,_ Vincent told him softly, demon-burned eyes fixed on Sephiroth. _He wants to take Riku _tonight

_Not possible,_ Cloud answered instantly, eyes flickering over to his younger brother. _Can't we make it the next moon?_

Vincent hesitated. _Not unless we can convince Sephiroth to agree. He's going to try and play by the Laws, knowing that we abide by them – even if his Clan doesn't. _

Inside their heads, Cloud snarled, fighting not to let his hands fist beneath the table, fighting the need to reach for Riku's hand – to hold on tight and let him know it would be all right.

Except that it wouldn't be. Not this time.

_And he's not going to do that, is he?_ Cloud asked softly, watching as his brother struggled to remain calm, to stay still and not shake under Kadaj's intense scrutiny.

_No._ Vincent replied, almost instantly. _He has a huge hold over us, Cloud. He made the offer. _We_ are the ones who 'edited' it, so to speak. That puts us in his debt, for allowing us to change the original offer at all. He didn't have to do that. _

The Third-Heir paused. _Cloud, I'll be honest. Riku is only a chip in this game. If Kadaj can legally handfasten with him, then the Star-Clan territory becomes Fire-Clan property with your death. The lands will go to Kadaj through Riku – and the moment the cord is tied around their wrists every Flame in the country will be out for your blood. _

_But what can we do?_ Cloud closed his eyes, not caring that the others must _know_, now, that he was silently speaking. _I'd rather try and switch myself for Riku then let that bastard Kadaj have him – and I would, if it wasn't for the Clan. _He struggled. _Vincent, please – tell me how to make this better._

_You can't,_ his cousin whispered softly. _There's nothing we can do without starting a war, Cloud. Because of Riku's age, we can ask for the handfastening to wait three months – and Kadaj won't take him before then. The ceremony is designed for life-partners – so Riku has to be a virgin for it to be legally binding in the eyes of the other Clans. _

_Kadaj is Safe, _Cloud pointed out, a stirring of hope beginning to grow in his chest. _He's not a virgin. The handfastening wouldn't be legal!_

He felt Vincent shake his head internally. _They're not life-partners. Only a half of the ceremony has to stick to the original to be binding. Kadaj only has to claim that he's had life-dreams featuring Riku to be considered his –partner – how can we prove he's lying?_

The hope kept growing. _Vincent, Riku's life-dreams have started! And they aren't about Kadaj! That proves it! _

_Even then – if we refuse this, we start a war, _Vincent pointed out. _Cloud, unless Riku isn't a virgin come the ceremony, it's binding. Which means the Flames will get the Star-Clan territory after they kill you. And, _he went on, interrupting his Prince, _even on the off-chance that Riku decides being taken by someone else is better than risking the Flames receiving the territory, he'll be raped and killed if he's discovered. _

_**So what the hell do we **_**do?** Cloud yelled, watching with some small satisfaction as Vincent winced.

_There's nothing we _can_ do. Now, at least. Maybe we can find a way to steal Riku back before the handfastening – but there's no way not to let the Flames collect him tonight. _

_Fine,_ Cloud choked out, abruptly cutting the link, not caring that the unexpected slash through his cousin's magik would pain the red-eyed Witch. He wanted to hurt someone – wanted to scream and shout and smash, wanted to watch the blood run into Kadaj's dark smirk, wanted to shatter Sephiroth's pale smile, electric green eyes swirled with colour and hidden thoughts.

(0)

"In that case, we will abide by tradition," Cloud replied stiffly, after a significant pause that was not really silent – not with all the conversations flying through the mind-threads all around the table. "How large a guard will arrive to escort my brother to the Southern Kingdom?"

Kadaj's father cocked his head as he appeared to give the question great thought – beside him, Kadaj debated the pros and cons of the traditional numbers: five warriors was a commoner with a skill needed by the escorting Clan; seven was a criminal of little note; ten for a murderer or rapist. A royal deserved either thirteen, seventeen, or twenty-one, depending on their status – in other words, how many steps they were away from their own throne.

"Seventeen," Sephiroth said decisively, obviously deciding yet another jibe at the Stars was unnecessary – and potentially harmful. Kadaj didn't doubt for a moment that Cloud would snap if they pushed him too far, cutting the deal and declaring war rather than stand for the insult on top of the injury.

It was a respectful answer, but none of the three Heirs to the Star-Clan throne seemed mollified – the misty anger caged inside Riku seemed even stronger, if anything, and Kadaj watched with interest as the youngest royal present struggled to contain it, beautiful, ocean-star eyes glittering with hatred only thinly veiled by fear.

How very…delicious.

The ebony-haired man at Cloud's side lifted his chin elegantly, and the Fire-Prince's eyes slid over to him, intrigued. He hadn't really looked at the Third-Heir within the Meet-Chamber, being far too enamoured with Cloud and then with Riku to notice the other Witch – but now he did, it was easy to see that this other was striking, like something out of a fairytale: _hair as black as night and skin as white as snow._

And then the metal-covered hand, shining with a hard gold, lay itself pointedly on the table, clawed fingers spread in a distinct warning.

Kadaj stifled a gasp at the sight, automatically translating the gesture. No Witch would cover up their skin in such a way unless the sight of it was upsetting in some way to others – and that usually meant a great injury. But…

He frowned, tilting his head slightly. Witches did, occasionally, end up scarred, but always from life-threatening wounds. Healing magik existed that could bring one back from the chasm of death and leave the body unmarked – the Healer only had to be strong enough to cast the spells. It meant there were perhaps three or four Witches scattered through the three Clans that bore scars – and two of them were Flames.

What kind of warrior must this man be, to have survived an injury that could not be healed by magik?

_Do not mess with us. For all that you have taken advantage of our honour, we are not weak._

_You would do well to remember it._

"And what of the other two dates?"

_Yes, what of them?_ Kadaj wondered, his eyes still on the ebon-haired man's arm, sleeved in solid sunlight. _Handfastening and Taking. What of them? _

"In accordance with the good luck surrounding the period, I would suggest the ceremony takes place with the full moon," Sephiroth commented, emotion carefully hidden so as to give nothing away. Even Kadaj couldn't tell exactly what his intentions were. "And the sooner my son's betrothed is Safe, the less worry there will be over the Prince's safety."

Emerald cat-eyes smirked. "Don't you agree?"

"No." Cloud said bluntly, arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the glitter of a mind-thread instantly connecting him to the Third Heir. "As patriarch of the Star-Clan – _with or without the crown_ – " His eyes dared any present to disagree, " – and in account of my brother's age, I refuse to allow the handfastening to take place so soon. In addition, to receive my cord for the ceremony I require for the Taking to occur _after_ the handfastening."

His eyes never left those of the Witch-King's. "Will any of that be a problem?"

(0)

Riku couldn't believe what his older brother had just done. He knew how desperately Vincent must be shouting inside Cloud's mind right now – and he knew just how desperately the Crown-Heir would be ignoring it. To threaten not to tie the cord…

Three cords were tied around a couple's wrist at the handfastening – one knotted by the guardian of each partner, and one they tied together, using one hand each to work together, a symbol of how their lives would be from this moment on.

To be legal and binding, all three cords must be tied. As patriarch both of the Clan and of Riku's family, his guardian would be Cloud – his brother was, in effect, threatening not to allow the ceremony to go through.

He was, in effect, threatening the Fire-Clan Witch-King.

The picture of blond defiance to everyone else, all Riku could see was the scared, determined teenager underneath, that was terrified he'd just started a war.

And maybe that fear wasn't quite so far off the mark – because Sephiroth looked _furious._

"How _dare_ do you speak to me so?" The Witch-King hissed, eyes wild slits as his nostrils flared. The un-ignorable smell of ozone and blood began to seep into the room from him, the unmistakeable feeling of pure _power_ that was beginning to overflow Sephiroth's flesh.

"Who are you to brush aside etiquette and ritual with immunity?" The Fire-King snarled. "Who are you to think you can defy a King of Witches and escape repercussion? Some Prince that does not even wear the Crown yet, and one that cannot protect either his family or his people." He abruptly pushed back his chair, rising to his feet with the fluid grace of a feline – and with him the surrounding Flames rose also, mirrored by the Angels.

Weapons whispered words of blood-longing and battle-lust in their sheaths; arms were sleeved in the bright green Lifestream magik of the Stars or the ebony and lazuli power of the Flames. Energy blazed; nimbuses surrounded bodies like glowing armour; and the two sides faced each other.

"You will not touch him!" Tifa shouted, readying herself, signalling to the other Angels.

Sephiroth looked to her with distaste. "I have no need to do so, woman," he replied, eyes sliding back to Cloud. "_Metonos eternae!_" He snapped suddenly at the Fire-warriors; and in a moment they had backed away from the threat of a fight, swords sliding easily back into sheaths and magik dissolving into wisps of light as it was recalled into flesh.

"We will come for your brother with the new day," Sephiroth stated quietly, eyes blazing – Riku couldn't take his eyes off the King, not even for his betrothed at the man's side. "His escort will be seventeen, and there will be another for myself and my son. The handfastening will take place three months from now at the full moon, and you _will_ tie the cord."

He made a sharp gesture with his right hand, his left hovering close to the hilt of his long, slim blade, and the Flames – including his son – abruptly turned and made for the door, slipping into organised positions that caught Riku's attention instantly.

Quickly, he memorised their layout, frowning slightly as he realised their positions were arranged by complimentary fighting styles. Each of the warriors was in place according to the weapons they bore – katana, blade, the wrist-bands that indicated a mage or magikal warrior…Each was surrounded by those that could fight effectively with their own style.

So organised…

Kadaj and his two guards were the last to leave the room, the silver pile-bunker of the taller escort glinting in the light from the windows as they passed through the doors, and Riku looked back to Sephiroth.

The Witch-King didn't seem at all nervous to be alone in a room full of Stars, and most of them battle-trained; nor did the fact that almost all of said Stars were still prepared to attack at any moment. Tifa had not given an order to stand down, and as such magik and blades were still out and ready – but while all alone, with none at his back, Sephiroth really didn't seem to care.

All the same, he made to leave, turning and making for the door, his every movement clear cut and graceful, elegant –

Before he paused. Just a moment, just before walking through the doorway.

"Don't leave your Territory, Cloud," he smirked, not looking back at the assembled Witches. "Don't leave your escorts. And find your life-partner very, very quickly. I do not forget those who give me insult."

And with that, he vanished, slipping out the door without another sound; without looking back.

(0)

Most of the Flames were long gone, and a little less than half the Shadows, but Axel refused to leave until Cloud and Riku had come out of the other room.

"They're my friends, Demyx," he argued softly, crossing his arms as he sat in his seat, ignoring the uncomfortable hardness of the marble. "And they're in there with Sephiroth _and_ Kadaj. Who knows what could happen?"

Zexion had been frank with him, as usual. "Axel, your Clan needs you right now. They're going to be shaken up over this whole business of Kadaj's handfastening as it is – they need the reassurance that you're here for them, that this situation in no way directly affects them. We need to go home."

"It is highly unlikely that the Angels will allow any harm to come to either of the Star-Princes," Xemnas agreed quietly. "Please, your highness. Now is not the time for the sudden bout of empathy. This might well turn into war, in which case there are _definitely_ things that need doing. We can ill-afford to stay."

For a moment, their Prince said nothing, fire-green eyes blinking slowly – before, sighing, he rose from his chair, glaring at it hatefully before meeting the gaze of his second in command.

"All right, all right. I'll go." He muttered, allowing them to fall into position around him – just as the door to the adjoining chamber door opened.

His warriors tensed as the stream of Flames filed past, each of the weapon-baring Witches ignoring them – and the two Shadows, Larxene and Xigbar, that waited at the doorway to the building. It was as if they were nothing – nobodies that didn't have to be concerned about. As if they could do nothing to harm these black-and-silver soldiers.

Soldiers. _Yeah, that's the right word,_ Axel thought to himself as they disappeared outside. _Soldiers. Overly disciplined and strict, their lives given up to the blade. _

_What kind of a life is that?_

He noticed Kadaj and his puppies exiting the room last, disappearing without even once looking over to the group of Shadows.

But no Sephiroth. No Witch King.

The Prince of Shadows had opened his mouth to speak – no, to order his men to check in on Cloud and Riku, let's be honest – but the silver-haired King of Fire swept out before he could even shape the words with his tongue, and his jaw snapped shut abruptly as he fought not to flinch away from the raging Witch, deciding he didn't want to know what had happened to incur _that_ reaction.

He glanced at the door, but allowed Xemnas and Zexion to lead him to the yacht waiting for him at the docks – waiting to bring him home to the Northern Kingdom, to the wild freedom of Scotland and the cool safety of his Clan-Home castle hidden among the mountains.

He caught a glimpse of blond and silver hair as the boat was pulling away – and, sure now that Cloud and Riku were unhurt after all, he let himself relax into the yacht's supreme comforts, content to just listen to his friend's quiet conversations and catch some z's.

Clan Home of the Star-Clan

His hands were shaking as he folded the dress shirt, and the zipper of his bag seemed determined to oppose his leaving.

Taking a deep breath, ignoring how it shook inside his throat, he finally managed to tug the bag open and shove the shirt inside, quickly adding the rest of the clothes he'd decided to take, a few books and trinkets, and the leather drawstring pouch hanging from the bedpost, the drawstrings knotted tight to keep it closed.

Pausing, he weighed it in his hand, trying to keep his mind blank as he sat down on the bed, almost numb, and trembling fingers fought to untie the complex knot, woven in with glittering beads that only further complicated the task. He could feel the hard, smooth edges of the Star-Clan Soul pendant through the leather, and suddenly he wondered if he even _should_ take it out…To wear the symbol that proclaimed for all to see that his life-dreams had started would surely be an insult to Kadaj and the Flames, wouldn't it? Since he was all but saying aloud that this betrothal was a sham, a sick, twisted pretence that was no more than his sacrifice for the Clan.

Fine. He held the pouch tight in his hand for a moment, eyes glazed as he tried to pour the handful of exquisite memories he had of his other half, that boy with eyes like sapphires, into the leather and the silver and the gems. The silky softness of his spiky hair; the way his eyes glittered and shone when he smiled; the golden tan of his skin, so different to Riku's own pearl white paleness.

All of it.

Kissing the memories goodbye, he gently hid the pouch under his pillow, the bed stark and neatly made, a harsh reminder that he would probably never see it again.

Angrily brushing away the sudden onslaught of tears – liquidated fear, melted panic – he stood up, crossing over the soft carpets to his wardrobe, flinging the cedar doors wide open. _Fine._

He would do this, he thought to himself as he pulled down a different shirt, unhooking his blade from the back of the door. But he wouldn't do it for his people; wouldn't do it for the abstract concept of the Crown, or Vincent, or the Angels, or anyone else.

He would do it for Cloud. For Zack, and Aerith, and Cloud.

But there was no way in hell he was going like a lamb to the slaughter.

)0(

Cloud's eyes were fixed on the gate to the grounds, piercing blue eyes staring through the wall-length window as he waited, the starlight picking out hard, cool angles of him that dissuaded any of the waiting Witches from approaching him.

None of the Stars gathered in the entrance hall were poorly turned out for the arrival of the Fire-Clan, but Cloud outshone them all. His black-glossed armour, skin-tight and as flexible as leather, was embossed with silver gilt that ran down his arms in swirling, snapping spirals, interwoven with the glittering wolves that were his own personal mark. Two snarling wolf-heads were inset onto his shoulders, clasping smooth silver rings in their fanged mouths, and the brooch pinning his night-cloth cloak was a silver disc, embossed with seven stars surrounding an unpolished moonstone.

For the first time since he had been declared Crown-Heir, he truly looked the part of a warrior that could lead the Star-Clan.

He didn't turn as his cousin walked up to him, but the hand resting on the window-frame clenched tighter, and the silver finger-guards, hinged to allow movement from the sheet of metal covering the back of his palm, flashed warningly in the starlight.

Vincent stood beside him silently for a moment, following his Prince's gaze to the smudge of star-illuminated silver that was just visible in the dark. The gate to the Clan-Home grounds was almost a mile from the mansion itself, but the fires burning in deep copper dishes along the path to the house gave both light and an eerie cast over everything seen from the window.

His claret eyes flickered to the crystal hourglass in the alcove on the other side of the room. Set on a horizontal hinge so it could be flipped over when needed, it declared that there was still fifteen minutes to go before midnight – and the 'new day' that would see a Prince of the Stars leave the Clan-Home to take a new name, however unwillingly.

"Someone should fetch your brother," he murmured quietly, watching for a reaction from his cousin. "The Flames will be arriving soon, and they will be insulted if Riku is not here to greet them."

Instantly, Cloud's head whirled to glare at him, eyes blazing with furious blue fire.

"I don't give a damn if those bastards are offended," he hissed, and Vincent was reminded of Sephiroth at the Clan-Meet only a few hours ago. "They're taking my brother away from me, from his family and his home. They can suffer the insult for a few minutes while Riku says goodbye to the room he's lived in since he was _born!_"

Pain flitted across the Crown-Heir's features, before it was gone again, replaced by harsh steel and cold ice as he turned back to his place by the window – a sentry of soul, Vincent thought briefly, before he bowed his head and made to leave his cousin alone with his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Vince," Cloud whispered quietly, so softly the older Witch almost didn't catch it. But he did, and, nodding acceptance, understanding, the Third – soon to be Second – Heir vanished into the mansion, disappearing beneath the glittering chandeliers and among the fabulously well-dressed Angels and courtiers.

Leaving Cloud all alone by the cold window, looking out on an even colder world.

)0(

The eyes looking back at him from the floor-length mirror were only faintly red, Riku decided firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he stared at his reflection, eyeing it carefully before glancing to the pearl and silver hourglass on his bedside table.

Five minutes. It would take him that long to reach the entrance hall, with the curving staircase linking the third floor to the ground.

Reaching for the blade lying on the bed, fingering the cold, smooth hilt, he left his room for the last time, refusing to look back.

)0(

"They're here."

A leather-armour clad sentry appeared as if my magik at Vincent's elbow, and the Third-Heir raised an eyebrow at the man.

"And why have you not informed his highness Prince Cloud?" He asked quietly, an undertone of danger prevalent in the question. Now was not the time to split the Clan over leadership, and in any case Vincent neither needed nor wanted the responsibility of ruling.

The Witch hesitated, glancing over to Cloud's hard form over by the window, unmoving and still, and in a moment Vincent understood, though he was slightly amused. With his gold-clad arm and spell-red eyes, it was generally _he_, not Cloud, that was considered more intimidating.

"I shall tell him," Vincent assured him, though it was doubtful the guard found his tone at all assuring. "Alert the rest of the Angels, and prepare to open the gates to the grounds."

Nodding, the relieved Witch ran off into the crowd, and Vincent made his way quickly to Cloud.

"I heard," the blond stated, not giving his cousin a chance to speak. "And you gave the right orders."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, before squaring his shoulders and turning to face his Clan, eyes scanning the crowd of familiar faces before he jerked his chin at the assembled Angels near the doors.

His sword, thick and long, grazed the floor as he turned to Vincent for a moment. "Come with me?"

His cousin nodded, and with a visible slackening of tension – though only slight – the two Heirs made their way to the doors, where, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the entrance, thirty Angels were waiting to escort them down to the gates, mounted on the Clan's finest war-horses.

Vincent declined the offer of a milk-white steed, and though his decision to run raised some eyebrows, no one commented as Cloud swung himself easily up onto the back of his Arabian stallion, cloak fluttering and eyes hard as flint.

"Let's get this over with."

)0(

The breath from the Flame's horses rose like white smoke in the night air, but none of the riding Witches shivered. Starlight glinted off smooth, sharp blades – sheathed at backs, at waists, slipped down sleeves so the hilts pressed against palms, ready for anything.

Kadaj felt the presence of Loz and Yazoo in the escorting Witches behind him and his father, and, frowning, wondered if becoming Safe with them had created some kind of bond. He literally _felt_ them among the crowd – Yazoo's hair was brushing against his cheek like wet silk, the slight breeze blowing it about. Loz was getting stiff fingers in the cold beneath his pile-bunker, the metal freezing and leeching the heat from his hand.

Becoming Safe…That explosion of magik as his power reacted with that of his guards, using it to protect itself. Almost…Almost _sharing_ starfire, but not quite – he hadn't reached that deeply into their souls, had only brushed the surface…

The thought of merging their magik – something so intimate, so deep and powerful and sparkling-dark – almost made him shiver, but he repressed it at the last moment. His father would think he was reacting to the cold, and it would do no good to show weakness before the Clan.

His eyes slid over the intricate silver gates before them, saying nothing and letting no emotion cross his features. Twin blazes of blue fire burned on either side of the gates, at the top of the walls ringing the grounds, and he had to admit he was somewhat impressed at the skill that had gone into the making of the entrance to the Clan-Home. The gates were formed from silver and crystal, intricately shaped in a collection of animals that danced around each other to completely block the way – wolves, horses, wide-winged eagles and elegant serpents, snarling lions with crystalline manes and strong-shouldered tigers with eyes of jade, all of them collected around the crest of the Star-Clan royal family – a dragon and a unicorn, each rearing on opposing sides of a five-pointed star, it's lines interwoven in an endless knot.

Thin threads of emerald Lifestream-magik were just visible in the corner of the Prince's eye, woven into the metal and the golden brick of the walls, confirming Kadaj's thoughts – there were wards, protection spells, surrounding the Clan-Home as well, not just pretty silver and brick, and he wondered, briefly, how hard it would be to smash through them. It was likely that they were constantly strengthened, but there were almost forty Flames at his back whose power he could call on, each of them the result of careful, selective breeding that maximised their gifts.

He wondered, but the sound of hammering hoof-beats sounded out of the silence, and beneath him his horse shifted from foot to foot uneasily. Almost without thought, he stilled it, but the noise had summoned the attention of all the waiting Witches.

And sure enough, Prince Cloud's blond hair shone in the blue light of the fires, eyes cold and hard as he pulled up on the other side of the gate, his Arab stamping the ground restlessly as the Third-Heir, the ebon-haired man from the Meet, appeared like a shadow beside him, not a horse in sight and his gold-sleeved arm glinting in the dark.

Only seconds later, before any of the Flames could react, the Angels came hammering out of the darkness behind them, a wide array of pearl-white horses and black-clad Witches, silver blades gleaming in response to the easily seen collection of Fire-Clan weapons.

The moment the last horse stilled Cloud flung his right hand out, eyes flashing, and Kadaj was shocked at how strong and imperious he appeared then, gold hair waving softly and silver wolves flashing as three Angels detached from the main group, disappearing over to the shadows among the side of the gate.

The two Prince's eyes met for a split second, and in the sapphire orbs Kadaj read just how much poisoned hate the other held for him, mixed in with liquid pain that was a bitter dish.

He smirked, sitting straighter in the saddle, letting Cloud know just how much he was enjoying this. The Star-Prince was weak, for all his armour and blades and stallions, for all the Witches he could call on. He was weak, and unSafe, and they both knew it, and knew the other knew it too.

With a clang, some locking spell in the gate came undone, and the two halves of the silver entrance swung inwards, flashing in the firelight, the eyes of the watching beasts and birds fixed on the intruding Clan as Cloud turned, jerking the reins to lead his Witches back to the Clan-Home.

Only this time, the Flames would follow him too, for he was leading them to his baby brother. Leading his brother's rapists to the door.

)0(

Without waiting for the others – bar Vincent, who was already at his side as he dismounted – Cloud pushed the doors wide open, flinging them inwards with all his strength and catching them with a spell to stop them from slamming into the walls.

And froze.

Riku was just coming down the grand staircase directly opposite him, one hand trailing on the polished railing at his side – and he was dressed to kill.

Literally – the sword passed down from father to son for generations was belted at his waist, the blade long and undulating elegantly, the hand-guard for the polished wooden grip doubling as yet another weapon for close combat. It shone in the light from the chandeliers, as did the silver bracelet around his right wrist; the cuff formed of Celtic-style vines woven in and out of each other to clasp a central moonstone, pearly blue, that complimented his fair hair.

But his _clothes_…Cloud wasn't sure what Riku was trying to say, but his brother was dressed in the traditional outfit of a warrior prince at a royal reception. His trousers were skin-tight black leather, smooth and supple that vanished into knee-high boots. Said footwear were topped with a band of silver that reached upwards in a point, clutching a tear-drop sapphire just under each knee, and the rounded toe of each boot was also decorated with tiny sapphire studs. A slim blue-violet ribbon acted as a belt, and the hem of his shirt matched it – though said shirt didn't begin for a good five inches above his navel, baring tantalisingly smooth skin. The black, sapphire-edged shirt even ended in a v-neck, revealing a glimpse of defined muscle before curving to Riku's shoulders, dissolving into plates of silver armour, inset with lazuli, beneath which slipped short, loose sleeves that draped over his skin.

He looked completely stunning, his hair long and flowing loose past his shoulders. A single, slim braid, woven with lazuli beads and bound with silver thread, rested behind one ear, and his eyes were calm and hard as he reached the floor, his sword tapping against the last step as he stood before his betrothed and family, dropping the bag that had been hooked over his shoulder at his feet.

Cloud noticed the glaring bareness of his throat, and forced back tears as he realised that, no, of course Riku wouldn't wear the Star-Soul pendant. His gaze slid to the duffel bag – was it in there? Was Riku even bringing it with him, or would he have left it in his bedroom?

That was when it hit him. He hadn't realised before, had given Riku the customary pendant and nearly forgotten about it.

His baby brother had started his life-dreams. Riku knew his life-partner – if not by name, then his face. He wasn't just giving up his magik for his brother – he was giving up his chance to have a complete soul, to be whole and one with his other half, as he was meant to be. And it wasn't even an abstract concept – Riku _knew._ Riku had _seen_ the other half of his soul, knew exactly what he was giving up.

But he was doing it anyway.

There was no chance for him to speak: Kadaj stepped out of the knot of Flames, the black onyx pendant at his throat swinging forward on its silver chain as he bowed to Riku, arm sweeping across his chest in a gesture surprisingly empty of mockery – just the right depth, just the right amount of respect, just the right amount of time to stay down before straightening slightly, before reaching for Riku's regally extended hand to press a light kiss to the knuckles.

He didn't miss the slight shudder than ran through his brother, or how quickly the hand was taken back, resting pointedly on the hilt of his sword.

Vincent stepped forward from his side, and his red velvet cloak fluttered as he crossed the room quickly, brushing past Kadaj as if the Prince was of no importance. Slowly, with the air of tradition and ritual flowing around him like a mantle, and his face carefully blank, he turned to lead his Prince away from the stairs and towards the assembled Witches.

The two of them walked slowly, and Kadaj was at his father's side in an instant, a blur of shadowed light only just visible to the others. The members of the Star-Clan gathered around, forming a crescent around the ritual about to come, and Riku trembled slightly as the staircase was blocked.

Cloud met them halfway, face hard and clear, empty of emotion as Riku was exchanged from cousin to brother – from family to king, within the boundaries of the ceremony – but he squeezed his brother's hand hard as Cloud led him towards the Flames. To let him know that it was only a façade – to let him know that Cloud was screaming and crying on the inside, that, even know, Riku had only to say the word and Cloud would willingly start a war: break this pretence, this joke of an agreement, throw the Flames from the grounds and ready the Clan for battle.

His little brother knew it – knew it all, knew everything, could tell from the stiff, tense way Cloud held his shoulders, from the tightness of his grip on Riku's hand.

And he did it anyway.

(0)

"To the best of your knowledge, is this betrothal a good and lawful agreement?"

"Yes, it is."

"Is the decision to handfasten with the Prince Kadaj your own, with no force or pressure placed upon you to make a certain choice?"

"It is."

Lie, after lie, after lie. And everyone present _knew_ he was lying – knew that the words from his mouth were tainted, poisoned by the knowledge that it would be the blood of all those around him staining the ground if he did not answer as expected. Tifa. Vincent.

Cloud.

The Star-Priestess seemed satisfied, her waist-long black hair tinkling with its braids of beads and tiny bells, glittering gems flashing as she turned her head, stepping back into the crescent of watching Witches.

Cloud's fingers were hard and tense on his as the Witch-King stepped forward, slightly apart from his own Clan-Witches as his own ritualised questions began.

"You understand that you will no longer belong to your birth-Clan, but be a Flame-by-marriage, expected to obey the Laws and codes of the Fire-Clan Witches?"

"I do."

"You understand that, as the offered, the Prince Kadaj will rule any household the two of you may share?"

Murmurs ran around the watching Witches, and Riku blinked, startled. _That_ wasn't a normal part of the ceremony…Or at least, not for normal Witches. Was a royal handfastening different?

_It must be_, he thought quickly as he answered "I do." _Otherwise there would be a clash between the two royals, right? Because they'd _both_ be used to ruling…_

All the same, it didn't help the hot coil of nerves settled in his stomach.

_You know what they're going to do to you,_ he argued with himself, trying not to shake as Cloud let go of his hand, as his big brother stepped away to rejoin his Clan. No, his ex-Clan, almost. _Don't pretend this is going to be ok. It _won't_. You knew that when you offered yourself. You'll either be…be raped and killed almost at once, or they'll wait until after the handfastening to try and win the Star-Clan territory. _

_Either way, you're dead. Deal with it. For Cloud._

And it was for Cloud that he didn't look up at his older brother as the blond walked away, knowing neither of them could stand it if they faced the truth. Knowing that if he met Cloud's bright blue eyes, the Star-Heir would tear his little brother away from this, hold him tight and safe and declare war, right here, right now.

And because he knew that he'd beg for it. Silently, without words, he would look at Cloud and beg him not to let this happen, not to hand him over to these living nightmares – and there was no way on earth Cloud would be able to withstand Riku's tears.

So he didn't look. Stood straight and tall and didn't look away from Kadaj as the Fire-Prince took his hand, slipping an onyx-set ring of steel around his ring finger.

"Then be welcomed to our Clan, son-in-Law," the Witch-King said quietly, and Riku didn't look, didn't look at Sephiroth or Vincent or Cloud as Kadaj's mouth met his in a heated kiss, the Fire-Prince's hand reaching up to hold his head in place as his tongue tasted Riku's.

He didn't look.

But he thought Cloud might have seen his one, escaped tear even so.

(0)

Kadaj heard his father's Witches cheer as he laid claim to the Star-Prince, and even most of the Stars clapped and applauded as his mouth worked Riku's, their silver hair mingling as he tilted the younger boy's face for better access.

He only had a moment before ritual became crass impropriety, and he made full use of it, feeling the Star-Heir's gaze burning the back of his neck as his fingers wound into Riku's fair hair, the fine, silky softness of it evident even through his customary gloves. He lapped at Riku's tongue, smirking as he felt the younger Prince's skin tremble beneath his fingertips. No doubt this was the boy's first time – the Star-Clan was ruled religiously by the Laws that were meant to bind them all; Riku probably hadn't even touched himself. Even the Shadows, another of the so-called Light Clans, were more lax – he was willing to bet their Prince Axel had brushed mouths with another of his subjects once or twice, when he was younger.

The thought of the fragile innocence he was holding in his hands made him hot and wanting, desire flowing like honey through his veins. He wanted to break it, break this thin layer of crystal protecting Riku from the knowledge of heat and blood and lust, be the one to introduce these things to him. Wanted the Star-Prince laid out on white sheets, wanted him wide-eyed and panting, writhing as Kadaj played his body like a harp, tasting his fear and his moans like spiced honey on his tongue.

And…

He let go of the Star-Prince abruptly, pulling away, shocked and confused at the flurry of emotions whirling through him, barely hearing the applause from the Witches around them, the polite clapping and commendations on the betrothal, sealed now with a kiss – just like the old tales he used to listen to as a child.

There was a glittering tear pearled on Riku's cheek, and the Star's hair had been mussed by Kadaj's fingers, but apart from that his betrothed seemed calm and composed, a pale hand making to smudge the tear away before the surrounding Witches could see.

Without thought, Kadaj reached forward with a gloved hand, the pad of his thumb brushing away the tell-tale glitter as his eyes met Riku's, the aquamarine orbs blank and numb; and Kadaj tried to ignore the pang of pain in his chest as he caressed the other Prince's soft skin, knowing that the sensuality would cover the true meaning behind the gesture, allowing Riku some of his pride.

Tried to ignore it as he took Riku's hand again, turned and lifted their joined hands over their silver hair to the roars of approval.

Because it wasn't just his innocence that Kadaj wanted. He wanted to protect him – cup him in careful hands and lock him in a bejewelled box, for only the Fire-Prince to see and admire. Wanted to adore him, to cherish him, to –

To…?

(0)

Cloud was standing by the window once more, and his pose was so the mirror of his stance earlier this night that Vincent wasn't sure if he had dreamed the last two hours. But the hands on the sill had been bared from their hand-guards, and the knuckles were so white there may have been no skin covering them at all.

The bright flash of silver in the dark summoned no response from Cloud – even though both Heirs knew it was that of the gates swinging open, catching the light from the fires. The blond's features seemed carved from pale stone – only the sleek softness of his hair convinced those watching that their Prince was not a statue garbed in mortal clothes, for he seemed so…so _numb_.

Emotionless.

He said nothing as the gate swung shut again, as the distant thrum of hoof beats split apart – one half returning to the Clan-Home mansion; one vanishing like shadows into the dark night.

And his baby brother was with those riders. Not the Angels even now approaching the door, those who had protected his family since their birth.

The murdering, raping nightmares that would destroy his brother's soul.

Vincent knew better than to speak, and so he did not, saying nothing as Cloud turned away from the window, slowly and carefully. As though a sudden movement would find him falling apart, shattering into a thousand crystalline pieces on the floor – because his heart was with his brother, and he could barely stand, could barely walk because the baby brother he had loved and raised and protected since their parents died wasn't there. Was no longer protected.

Because Cloud had failed. Because Cloud couldn't protect anyone. Not his Clan, not Zack, not Aerith…

Not Riku.

And as he stumbled up the stairs, struggling to stay upright in the face of the tearing agony in his chest, feeling the last, final piece of his light die. The glowing tendril that had existed only for Riku, staying strong and surviving only for his baby brother – because Riku had needed him.

But Cloud had let him down. Just like he did everyone else.

Collapsing on the floor outside his room, unable to go on, Cloud gave up the struggle to stay strong – and cried.

* * *

AN: Since I'm not overly great at describing clothes and jewelry, I thought you guys might like to see what inspired some of the accessories in this chapter! (Take out the spaces when you type the adresses in!) 

Cloud's hand-guards - http:// raulsouza. deviantart. com /art/Celtic-Armour-Ring-44333734. Picture the metal spreading out to cover his hand as well, of course.

Riku's sword - http:// bloodstorme. deviantart. com /art/ PERSUASION-34939656

Riku's bracelet - http://ellygator. deviantart. com /art/ Zaphiria-Bracelet-69244741

Riku's clothes - http:// cruelangel. net/ divinitas/ artworks/ zodiac/ aquarius. html (not the cuffs, collar, blade, chains, or jug, obviously! )

Kadaj's pendant - http://chatnoir13. deviantart. com/ art/ Midnight-46054784

And now peeps, there is a vote to take place. I have a few designs in mind for the Star-Clan Soul pendant, or Star-Soul for short. Which shall it be?

Option A: http://yogarasu. deviantart. com /art/ A-Starry-Night-44541927

Option B: http://jessa1155. deviantart. com/ art/ SEAFOAM-64406172

Option C: http://yogarasu. deviantart. com/ art/ New-Moon-42872292

Tell me what you think, and don't forget to vote!!!


	6. Pull the Star Down From the Sky

**Ta-daaaa!**** And it's DONE! Yay! Sorry this took so long – I was stuck for a while, and then I got a new beta, and…yeah. But it's done now, and that's the point, right?**

**Warnings – v.v.v. dark, and…rather explicit. It wasn't MEANT to be this bad, but it wouldn't WORK otherwise, so…yeah. DO NOT READ if you're not ok with explicit guy-on-guy, ok? I will not accept responsibility – I have WARNED YOU!!!**

**And now, if you CAN handle it, please enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Six – Pull Down the Star From the Sky

North London

_Fire. Gold and bright, licking up the walls with a blood-stained tongue, singeing-charring-consuming. He has to get out, has to get Sora out of the castle – has to protect the Key of Heart._

_No! He curses, hand fisting at his side as he runs, his other palm curling at his temple as if to claw out the thought. He hates the Princesses for what they've done to him; for the implants and the neobots and the mental training, for trying to force him into viewing _their_ interests as his. _

_But it won't work. It _won't_! Because he doesn't give a damn about their cursing prophecy – about Keys and Stars and Shadows flickering in the light of burning fire, about black and silver Flames and all the rest of their lies. He doesn't give a damn about their Precious Heart-Key._

_He cares only his brother. Only _Sora_ – and not the pure, distilled magik that's housed within his flesh._

)0(

Roxas jerked awake suddenly, sitting up in the bed as sweat dewed on his forehead, darkening his hair. He felt as if he'd been running, his breathing hard and sore, harsh and loud in the still silence of the dormitory, and his heart was pounding in his chest, the remnants of a terrible fear dissolving in the face of the sunlight.

_What _was_ that? _

His head turned momentarily to the window of the room, pale, watery light streaming into the room to illuminate the five sleeping teenagers. Or rather, _four_ sleeping teens, because he was awake now, wasn't he?

_Sora…_Confused, he looked to his right, away from the pane of glass, frowning as he checked on his brother. His twin was fast asleep, cinnamon spikes crushed against the pale blue pillowcase, his cheek resting on his hand, curled up beneath his face, and Roxas almost smiled at how innocent and adorable he looked then.

But he didn't. The blond stared at his twin's features, dark sapphire eyes tracing the face that was the mirror of his own, musing, shifting through the small fragments of memories the two of them had collected over the last few days.

A battle. A great fight between two enemy forces, one of which had seemingly set the twin's dwelling place on fire. They had been apart, but had obviously found each other – he recalled the memory of Sora's panicked eyes, gold flashing around his dark brown hair as they ran somewhere.

And now this. He frowned, running a hand lightly through his hair, careful not to wake anyone as he climbed out of bed, almost silently tossing the thick covers back. Princesses…And nanobots? Weren't they microscopic robots? Heart-Key?

_And how do I know all of this?_ He thought angrily to himself, padding across the coarse carpets to curl up against the window, pulling his knees tight to his chest as he looked out over London. The traffic was light at this early hour – most people were still asleep. _How do I know what a nanobot is? Why can I remember my name, and Sora's, but nothing else? How do I even know he's my brother? For all I know, he's my clone! _

_Or I'm his…_

But he knew that wasn't true. The sense of brother-hood between the two of them was like a thick, silken rope, a cord of braided diamond. Unbreakable; unshakeable. It just _was_.

_Heart-Key_…It meant something, something important – something huge and earth-shattering, floating just out of which, a glimmering wisp of gossamer catching the post-dawn light. Something that summoned hazy pictures to play against the background of his closed eyelids, filtering gold from the light – a dais bearing seven thrones, circling around a platform of glittering crystal; a map of the world, laid down on a wooden table, large areas bordered in different colours, the lines crossing both lands and oceans; a leather bound book, each page taken up by a skilled and colourful illustration, described by tiny, delicate penmanship he could barely read.

Curled up against the cold leaking in from under the windowframe, Roxas clasped his knees tighter against his chest, watching the world go by and wondering why it felt like he didn't belong in it.

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

The gates of the Fire-Clan Clan-Home swung open without so much as a whisper as the escort to the Flame-Royals passed through, the beating hoof beats as loud as funeral drum as the collection of war-stallions cantered through the heavily forested manor grounds.

Riku was exhausted, but he didn't show it. No matter how heavy his eyes were, or how numb his fingers after clutching the reins like a life-line for hours, he refused to do anything but sit straight and tall, just as composed as the Witch-King to his right and his…his _betrothed_ on his left.

The rising sun played with the filter of emerald leaves above their heads, sending watery-pale light to dapple the forest floor. Late spring, and the ground was green enough to compliment the crystalline gold glow from up above, but Riku was too distracted to take in the natural beauty. Every step of his horse, the ice-white Arab stallion with a mane and tail like flowing water, was taking him closer and closer to the mansion now visible in a break among the trees, and the nerves coiling in his stomach were making him feel sick with dread.

He refused to look at anyone as the group assembled outside the giant double doors, dismounting quickly and with a façade of ease as he handed his mount over to a servant – a façade because that much riding had left his legs and thighs stiff and sore, but he refused to show any weakness before his new Clan, squaring his features determinedly as Kadaj approached him.

The Fire-Prince bowed his head as he reached questioningly for Riku's hand – which, after a moment's pause, he gave up, clutching the strap of his duffel bag tighter in retaliation as Kadaj led him up the five smoothly polished steps, the two ever-present silver-haired guards like shadows at Riku's back. He could feel their twin gazes on him as they passed through the door to the Entrance Hall.

It was no less grand than that of the Stars. Straight ahead, a visitor was met with a wide staircase, that rose halfway to the next floor before splitting in two, each half moving in opposite directions to divide the right and left wings of the mansion. Above the split hung a large, gilt-framed oil portrait, similar to the one in the Star-Clan Banquet Hall. Only here, instead of the Witch-King Zachary the First – the one after whom Zack had been named – the Witch featured was a woman, her starlight-silver hair long and flowing past her shoulders, falling in elegant waves to her waist, just as Sephiroth's did. She was tall and slim, her body well-built and shaped for fighting, as the long, thin sword she held indicated, and her amethyst eyes burned down on Riku, the Star-Prince almost quailing under her harsh gaze.

"My ancestor, the Witch-Queen Jenova," Kadaj murmured at his side, and Riku nearly jumped, having forgotten his situation for a minute as he absorbed the figure dominating the Hall. "The founder of our Clan."

Riku nodded, trying to seem polite, but he didn't know what to say. The Witch who had sparked off the first war between Clans? The one responsible for the largest number of deaths in the Clan's history? How did you respond to something like that?

Sephiroth had already dismissed the warriors that had escorted them this far, though the two by Kadaj had not moved a muscle, and now the Witch-King bowed slightly to his son's betrothed.

"Forgive me, Prince, but though the hour is early it might well be late, and I fear I shall not see either you or my son for a few hours." His eyes slid to Kadaj's. "I shall bid the two of you good-night – or good-morning, whichever you prefer – but I expect to see the two of you at the morning meal for Riku's introduction to the Clan."

"Of course, father. Good-night," Kadaj replied, and before Riku had a chance to echo him the Witch-King was gone, slipping through a side-doorway to vanish into the manor.

Only now did it really hit home for Riku, and it was hard not to cry out in sudden, painful realisation. He was all alone, in a foreign Territory, surrounded for miles around by brutal Fire-Clan Witches – and the only thing that kept him safe from the Witch-Prince leading him up the staircase was a verbal contract made seemingly a hundred miles away, and here and now, as he placed each foot numbly on each step and travelled closer and closer to Kadaj's chamber, it didn't seem like much protection at all.

He couldn't help holding on tighter to the strap of his bag, looping over his armoured shoulders – he couldn't help that he started to shake as they went deeper and deeper into the maze of the Fire-Clan manor – he couldn't help freezing at the whisper of sensation on the back of his bared waist, what felt like a gloved hand idly stroking his skin.

He couldn't help the flash of fear as one of the silver-haired guards pushed a door open, revealing a lush, luxurious bed-chamber. Couldn't help the sick, nervous feeling flowing through him like a drug as he stiffly followed the Fire-Prince into his – _their_ – room, the way his eyes were drawn as though magnetically to the silk-made four poster. The way he fought not to show his choking fear as Kadaj let go of his hand, as the Fire-Prince moved to the side of the bed with liquid grace.

And then he paused, as if something had just occurred to him, and the Prince of Fire glanced at Riku almost in shock, looking past the Star to the two silver-haired guards leaning against another wall, arms crossed and silent.

For a moment, the room was filled with tension, and Riku could feel it trembling against his skin, strong and silent, invisible but for the hard line to the shoulders of each of the Flames.

He couldn't stand it. He was tired, and stressed, and sick with nerves and fear – all he wanted was to fall asleep in his room in the Star-Clan manor, but at the moment even the floor was starting to look comfortable. Fuck these stupid Flames – fuck their ritual and blackmail and threats of war.

Fuck _everything_. He was tired.

With a deliberate thump, Riku let his bag fall to the ground – but at the last moment, he couldn't meet Kadaj's eyes that turned to him in confused amusement; just stared at the floor, glaring at the black carpet – was there anything in this place that _wasn't_ black?! – as if _it _were the cause of the noise.

His head jerked up with a gasp as a cold hand gripped his hair, bruising fingers cool and hard as they lifted his face to meet dark emerald eyes, pupils wild slits that ran like sadistic caresses over his features, hovering over his mouth before locking with his own scared eyes.

"What a pretty toy," the guard purred, exerting pressure; and Riku automatically took a step back, and then another, mind blank with numbing fear – unable to think, barely able to breathe. "Do we know if he works?"

His voice contained so much dark promise that Riku's short-circuited brain only just managed to hear the reply from the other escort in the room.

"Loz, leave him alone. He's not yours to play with," the man with the longer hair said softly from the other side of the room, pushing off the wall to stand behind Riku's enemy. Gloved hands circled Loz's waist, and hard emerald eyes closed with a groan as the other man pressed long, lingering kisses to the back of the short-haired warrior's neck.

"Besides, _we_ haven't had a chance to play today," Riku's rescuer whispered huskily, wet tongue darting into a shell-whorled ear, nipping at the earlobe as Loz groaned again; and Riku found himself abruptly freed as the hand in his hair let go, as if it no longer had the strength to keep him in it's grip. He staggered backwards in shock, his shoulder scraping painfully against the wall as he stared, wide-eyed and hypnotised at the two Witches standing only feet away from him.

_What…?_

Suddenly, Loz spun in the other's arms, and before the longer-haired Witch could react he was being pressed against one of the elegantly carved bed-posts, moaning as Loz's mouth attached kissed and sucked at his throat, as the rasp of zippers tore through the stunned silence.

"Yazoo…"

Riku knew he should look away – his cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment, and he didn't know how to react. He'd never seen two people like this before – hungry and hot and desperate, loud and sensitive and…and _free_, somehow, freed of their social constraints and their status, of other people's expectations and judgements…

And of their _clothes._

Embarrassed, he looked away as Loz pushed Yazoo's shirt from his shoulders, sliding his hands over a pale, softly defined chest, but he caught a glimpse of the two faces before he did so – Loz, eyes closed as if in prayer or worship; and Yazoo, his head thrown wantonly back, hands threaded in Loz's short hair, his eyes closed too in near desperate pleasure and lust, mouth parted and wet, glistening in the light from two dozen candles scattered around the room.

Hesitantly, Riku looked for Kadaj, hoping and praying the other Prince could give him some clue as how to act.

Not so. The Fire-Prince had stripped out of his shirt, glittering metal discs of a chain-mail under-shirt clinking as they slid to the floor; and he was crawling on the bed towards the bed-post his two escorts were pressed against, moaning and panting as Loz worked his partner to unimaginable heights, a pale hand pressed hard between Yazoo's thighs, eliciting a trembling whimper that made him smirk.

Suddenly, as Riku watched, Kadaj got his hands around Yazoo's waist and _tugged_ to the side, artfully pulling him around the post and onto the bed. The long-haired Witch landed on his back, gasping as Loz fell atop him, and his hand reached out to pull Kadaj in for a bruising kiss as Loz nipped and caressed his chest.

Breaking away from his efforts, soothing Yazoo with a hand stroking his thigh, Loz looked up, smirking as he met Riku's astonished gaze. Slowly, he licked his kiss-swollen lips, and the Star followed the movement with wide eyes. He felt horribly fascinated at what he was seeing – if he had been coherent, he might have said he was hypnotised – but then the smirk from Loz was like a bucket of ice-cold water: instantly, he felt sick, disgusted, and terribly, terribly afraid of the short-haired Witch as he turned to his two companions.

"Kadaj, can we play with your new toy?" He purred, winding his fingers in his Prince's hair as he pouted playfully, grinding down on Yazoo, whose hips he straddled, as he spoke. "Pretty please, Prince?"

He leaned forward, taking his weight on his knees as his mouth hovered only a hair's breadth from the Fire-Prince's.

"I promise not to be good," he whispered, just before he crushed Kadaj's mouth with his own, holding the Prince's head in place by his hair, fingers tangling in the silver silk as he drew away slightly, giving Riku an unblocked view of their tongues dancing, diamond threads of saliva dripping between them as Loz lapped at his Prince's mouth, nipping his lower lip forcefully – and Kadaj moaned and panted and gasped, thrusting into the air on his hands and knees, hands fisting in the silk sheets as his eyes darkened, mind clouding.

"Yes…" He breathed, when Loz gave him a moment to catch his breath. "But only a little, Loz – he's new, after all." The Prince of Fire smirked, reaching for Loz again almost before the words were past his swollen lips.

Kissing his Prince once more, hungrily, Loz ground down again on Yazoo, running his hands down his thighs, summoning a groan from the one below him before he rocked back on his heels, his weight off Yazoo as he turned dark eyes on Riku.

"Come here, Princeling," he whispered, flickers of ebony and lazuli-bright blue winding down his arms like beautiful tattoos, glittering and shining as they writhed over callused fingers, that bent to beckon Riku closer. "Didn't you hear? Kadaj wants to play with his new toy…"

The play of light on skin was exotically beautiful, and Riku couldn't look away from the bright magik as Loz leaned towards him, beckoning again with those amazingly decorated fingers. Vaguely, he saw Yazoo turn his head to the side to watch, chest rising and falling fast as clearing jade eyes stared curiously at their new plaything. Vaguely, he saw Kadaj's look of dark lust as he followed the proceedings with a hungry gaze – but mostly, he was like a moth to a candle-flame, haunted and hypnotised by Loz's striking spirals.

He took a tentative step forward, barley registering Kadaj's dark smirk, Loz's amused grin. His mind filled up with soft, velvet black and bright, star-light blue…

_Blue eyes, shining like gems beneath cinnamon locks as the boy, bleary-eyed, walks out of the shimmering air somewhere in the dark._

Bright blue. Like the eyes of the boy in his life-dreams.

Shocked out of it, it was like waking from a bad dream – and he was almost sick as bile rose in his throat, red-hot and bitter, disgust flitting across his features as he realised what he'd almost done. The antics of the three Witches, that had seemed so morbidly fascinating only a moment ago, now seemed the most foul behaviour he could imagine. These Witches weren't life-partners! They were touching the souls, the magik, of those who were not…Not _them_, not the other half of themselves.

He couldn't imagine anything more wrong.

The three of them had different reactions to his disgust. As he froze to the carpet, knowing he couldn't run from the room but not knowing what else to do, Yazoo was the first whose deep green eyes clouded with realisation, and before Loz could respond – no doubt violently – the longer-haired Witch pulled him down for a kiss, rolling his hips upward and keeping him distracted with hands fisted in his hair.

Loz groaned against Yazoo's mouth, quickly losing himself in sensation and taking part, giving as good as he got – but the Fire-Prince's gaze hadn't wavered from the Star pressed up against his bedroom wall, and Riku's revulsion was quickly turning to fear beneath that lightning-green stare.

Clan-Home of the Shadow-Clan

Far away, in the midst of the Tentsmuir Forest in Scotland, the Prince of Shadows was deeply asleep, tired out from the long journeys that had been required to arrive at and return from the Clan-Meet. His spiked, fire-red hair was spread like the rays of a sun in a child's drawing on the stark white pillowcase, and even the hard lines of the ebony-diamond tattoos on his cheekbones couldn't do anything to hide how utterly calm and peaceful he appeared.

The guards that patrolled the hallways walked as though their feet were of padded velvet as they softly passed their Prince's door, but he was so tightly locked inside his dreams that he wouldn't have been awakened even if Demyx had decided to replace his alarm-clock with his sitar that morning.

_Pale blue sunlight, post-dawn but only just, reaching through cold glass to touch the face of a blond teenager curled up by the window, hugging his knees. Eyes that are almost midnight-blue in this lighting stare out at an unforgiving world, and Axel wonders what there is to forgive. How could such an angel have done something that needs anyone's forgiveness? _

_Flash – _

_Thrust, parry, duck, leap, thrust, thrust, feint-slash duck again._

_The black sleekness of the blade in the blond's hand is exquisite, the grip inset with dove-egg sapphires that flash as the crown-shaped edge bites slashes through the air, coming down on his opponent's shoulder. Blood flows, but neither warrior takes so much as a breath before the duel goes on._

_Dodge, feint to the left, slash, thrust, feint-parry, leap and dodge. _

_The blade of his opponent has a longer reach, and the bite of the sword is a curved arc, a scythe or a crescent, murky green and bloody violet, ebon-black, wicked sharp and deadly if it pierces his armour in the wrong place._

_Duck, thrust, duck and dodge, thrust, step forward, dance to the side and bring your blade up to crash into the other's. _

_The faces of those watching from the seven thrones around the dais doubling as an arena are carefully blank, but eyes glitter with dark approval as the blond finds himself winning – each strain of young muscle is pushing his opponent further and further from the centre of the platform, each crash of their blades forcing the other back until there's no where left to go, nothing he can do but surrender or be disarmed._

_The scythed blade goes crashing across the floor, clattering and spinning until it comes to rest at the foot of a golden throne, beside the delicate foot of one of the Seven. The crown-moulded bite of the blond's sword rests at the hollow of the other's throat, sliding between the joint of helm and chest armour._

_He has won._

_The blond spins on his heel, tearing the helm that matches his black and silver armour and throwing it at the foot of the crystal throne across the dais, his golden hair blazing like fire as he glares at the woman seated there, blue fire flickering along his ebony blade._

_Behind him, his opponent removes his own helm, placing in under his arm as he reveals sandy gold hair, eyes clear and unconcerned with his loss as he watches the women surrounding the dais._

_The woman they both look to has styled brunette hair, curls flowing delicately to the burnished gold of her gown, her fingers tapping idly on the crystal throne she sits atop. Around her, the six other women are all gazing intently at the winner of the duel, but they wait for the High Princess to speak first._

"Our congratulations, Keeper of the Key_," she says quietly, but there is a hint of mockery in her eyes that both the boys can easily recognise. "_You have proved yourself once more capable of protecting the Key. Your desire is granted – you may remain with him. For the present._"_

_The winner snarls, and the women on the thrones around him flinch or wince, startled – all but the first, this one speaking to him now. Her eyes stare calmly into his own as his hand fists on his dark blade._

"How many times do I have to prove myself_?" He snarls, face contorted in hatred, sapphire eyes brimming over with hatred. "_I defeat every warrior you throw at me. I master every spell from every book you give me. I break the scores on every test, pass the time for every challenge. **I am the best, and still you make me fight!**_"_

"We must be sure your skills do not fade with time, Keeper,_" the brunette tells him idly, as if it is of no importance. As if she cannot see the pain in every line of this young boy. "_If the spells used to create you do not withstand the test of time, then a new Keeper must be selected – _"_

_He cries out in fury, and his arm swings before the words can come from her mouth. _

_The blade flashes as it slices through the air with the ease of a dagger through melted butter, blue flames hissing with anger, and the other six in their thrones stiffen – one, the youngest, cries out, clapping her hands to her mouth as the deadly weapon flies for their leader's features._

_The brunette lazily waves her fingers, not even taking her hand from the armrest of her seat, and the blade halts mid-air, trembling like a caught moth before it crashes to the floor, like a cast-aside toy._

_Her eyes are hard and cold as flint, unfeeling as she hides a yawn behind one elegant hand. "_You will be separated from the Key of Heart for two weeks – a new Keeper will be chosen for that time – and the dosage for your medication will be upped to twice the current level._" _

_She clicked her fingers, and writhing ropes of shadowed light snap up from the floor of the stained-glass dais, snarling and hissing as they wrap like snakes around the blond, slithering like cloying decay over his shining ebony and silver armour, ignoring his frantic struggles, his cries as they slid up over his throat, ringing his neck in a glowing collar before slipping between his lips, into the canals of his ears, the corners of his eyes._

_And he has time to scream once – the sound drowning in pain, in agony and fury and a burning, blazing hatred that consumes his heart – before he goes limp, held up by the whip-like ropes of dark light as the uncaring, unemotional focus of the Princesses moves on to other topics, dismissing the other warrior and ordering him to take the winner of their duel to his rooms._

_And if they saw the trickle of dark blood from the corner of the unconscious boy's mouth, the single blood-stained tear, holding a speck of ruby like a rose encased in glass – then they simply didn't care._

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

The Star was shivering, silver hair whispering as his eyes locked with the Fire-Prince's, and the fear drowning the beautiful aquamarine orbs seemed to beckon to Kadaj – seemed to whisper, to cajole and beg the Prince of Flames to taste that luscious mouth, dissolve that oh-so-delicate barrier of innocence as he wound his hands in silken hair. He could already hear the soft, breath-like gasps and whimpers he could coax from those lips…

It would be _so easy. _

_So good…_

He almost didn't notice as he climbed slowly from the bed, his limbs loose and his movements sensuous. His eyes were locked with the beautiful aquamarine gaze that was slowly brimming over with fear, hidden behind that barrier of crystal that Kadaj wanted, oh-so-badly, to shatter and watch with hungry eyes as it lay in glittering fragments on the floor.

Riku didn't move as the Prince of Flames approached him, and Kadaj purred in dark contentment as his hand slid into the silver hair of his new toy, forcing the pale face to tilt, baring a milky throat for the Prince's burning hunger. He lowered his swollen mouth to Riku's neck, brushing the skin lightly with his lips for an instant, savouring Riku's shiver, before baring his sharp teeth and crushing the pale skin beneath him.

The Star-Prince cried out in shock and pain, and Kadaj groaned as he pushed Riku into the wall, tasting the weak flow of blood over his tongue. His hand fisted in the younger Witch's hair, pulling his head roughly to the side as he lapped at the wound, ringing it with his teeth to frame it in dark bruises before moving up the side of the other boy's neck, his hand slipping beneath the silky shirt.

Riku gasped, but Kadaj was prepared for the hands that came up to push him away – with a jolt of power, the Star's wrists were bound in ebony and lazuli cords of glowing magik behind his back, pressed painfully into the wall as Kadaj continued to toy with him, razor-sharp fingernails tracing idly over the softly defined stomach and chest as he nipped and sucked at Riku's earlobe, teeth biting hard enough for a thread of blood to trickle down the side of his throat.

With the Star writhing against him – desperate to get away or not – Kadaj had to fight to not simply tear Riku's clothes to shreds and take him against the wall, shuddering with lust at the thought of Riku's virgin-blood sliding in thin rivulets down his thighs, wet and hot and salty. But the thought of his father's anger forced him to keep a reasonably clear mind as he dragged Riku across the floor and onto the bed, throwing him down next to Loz and Yazoo on his back, shirt riding up his stomach and his neck bloodied and bruised, eyes closed in panting fear.

Kadaj frowned on all fours above his toy, a spark of possessive anger flaring in his mouth. He wanted to see those aquamarine jewels hidden behind paper-thin eyelids – the beautiful gems stained like the ocean. Wanted to see them cloud with lust and shame and dark, desperate desire for _more_.

They were _his_, and he _wanted them_.

Brushing the silk edge of the shirt up, the Fire Prince lowered his mouth to Riku's chest, tracing the faint lines of muscle with his teeth, watching with lidded eyes as Riku trembled, biting his lower lip hard. The Star fought not to react as Kadaj's tongue joined his teeth, laving a hot, wet path up his chest, traced with warm breath and the faint brush of sharp nails.

Beside them, Loz was working at his partner's belt, the chased silver buckle picked at with nimble fingers that shook only a little as Yazoo leaned up to whisper huskily into his ear, tracing the seashell whorls with a wet tongue, fingertips ghosting over the back of the warrior's neck. He groaned loudly, teasingly against Loz's cheek as the belt slithered from the trouser's loops, the leather clothing quickly unzipped and slid down over curving hips.

Frustrated, and growing more so by the moment, Kadaj pressed a callused hand between Riku's thighs, hard, just as he takes the Star's nipple into this mouth, growling as he mentally orders Riku to open his eyes.

It's too much for him – Riku's eyes fly open with a startled gasp as he arches up, breath harsh and loud over the wet sounds from Kadaj and the hard sucking of Loz's mouth on Yazoo's throat, the submissive warrior's moans quiet but definitely not controlled as he pulls Loz down onto him, entwining their legs _hard_ and grinding upwards, fingers spread in the other's shorter silver hair.

The Prince of Flames keeps his hand on the hardening flesh beneath the Star's trousers, hard pressure as he works Riku just like he'd imagined – playing his body like a harp, with mouth and teeth and tongue, nails and the soft brush of hair and the smooth, slick friction of skin-on-skin. The blue silk shirt is slid off and cast aside, the sleeves torn to get past Riku's bound wrists, and the fear in the bright eyes is as intoxicating as a drug as Kadaj tugs on the leather trousers. Dark as sin and smooth as oil, similar to his own that are growing tighter and tighter with every moment as Riku writhes in a confusing mix of pain and pleasure and gut-twisting shame, cheeks flushing as he gasps, moaning when Kadaj leans in to kiss his navel, smirking.

Whispering in his partner's ear, Loz ran his hands through Yazoo's hair as his mouth brushed the side of the other's face, a dark smirk twisting his lips when Yazoo nodded, purring like a cat as Loz gently disentangled himself from the other warrior.

Two more pairs of sharp green eyes drank in the sight of the Prince of Flames playing with his new toy, and as Loz's arms circled Kadaj's waist, leaning his face against the crook of his Prince's neck, Yazoo crawled across the black sheets to press a hungry kiss against Riku's panting mouth, performing for his two lovers unashamedly. Saliva dripped from the corners of Riku's lips as he groaned, trying to turn his head away from this new invasion; but Yazoo placed a firm hand against the side of his face, keeping him still, forcing him to submit to this.

Kadaj groaned, throwing his head back as Loz kissed and nipped his throat, a strong hand stroking teasing-slow down his chest as the other rested lightly on the Prince's hip, fingertips toying the zipper of his trousers, flicking playfully against the hard heat throbbing between his thighs as Kadaj bucked into the touch, hair falling forward like a veil to muffle the soft moan it elicited.

Loz's other hand joined the one on the Prince's waist, and they started to pull the zipper down, the silver teeth parting like Kadaj's lips as he panted, eyes fluttering closed, hands fisting in the sheets as the leather was stroked down his hips by callused fingers, pooling on the bed as Loz tugged them over his knees and ankles, tossing them to a corner of the room before stroking Kadaj's heat, soft and slow, almost tender as the Fire Prince moaned, leaning back into the mouth at his neck, panting, shivering, needing.

"Can we play, Prince?" Loz whispered, practised fingers curling between Kadaj's thighs, loving the gasping whimpers he could create in his Prince. "Yazoo and I don't want to sleep…" He nipped Kadaj's ear, tonguing the canal. "We want to worship you again…"

His voice trailed off, husky and rough, and Kadaj can't stop moaning, can only barely hold back the begging whimpers behind his teeth, because it feels _so good_, and he _wants_ it, and the sight of Yazoo playing with his toy only heightens the sensations…

Riku's eyes are closed again, and he thinks he can see tears clinging to the silver eyelashes as Yazoo's red tongue flickers in and out of the Star's mouth, fingers dancing across his chest – and suddenly Kadaj wants to curse whatever twist of fate keeps him from truly taking the Star-Witch, because he wants to be inside of Riku's velvet heat while Loz is within Kadaj, wants Yazoo playing with Riku just like he is now – all of them together.

His head falls forward, and when it comes up again it's decided.

He can't take Riku, not truly. But he wants to see the Star twisting and writhing in knife-edge pleasure, desperate for what the three of them can give him. Wants to hear him beg and plead, wants to hear him scream as he falls over the edge.

And that, they can do.

Clan-Home of the Star-Clan

Cloud didn't know what time it was when Vincent found him crying in the hallway. He was barely aware of anything past the screaming pain locked inside him, the tears like melted glass streaking down his face; and when his cousin lifted him in strong arms it was all he could do to throw his arms around the red-eye's neck, burying his face into the velvet-covered chest as Vincent brought him inside his room, opening the door with a flicker of power.

He barely noticed when he was lying on his own bed, Vincent sitting beside him, rubbing calming circles on the back of his hand with his thumb, whispering soothing words that he couldn't hear over his own cries. Couldn't swallow the mint-scented potions his cousin offered him – drinks to help him sleep – the cut-glass bottles smooth and hard against his lips but nearly choking him when the lump in his throat stopped him from gulping them down.

But he was so, so thankful when Vincent pressed his un-gloved hand to the blond's brow – when he felt the numbing flow of magik seeping into his skin, his mind, weighting down his reddened eyes and easing the cycle of breath in his chest. When he felt his circling thoughts slow and stutter to a stop – when he felt calm thread through him like honey through his veins.

He just managed to squeeze Vincent's hand in desperate, heart-felt thanks before the spell took him completely, and he fell into the dark depths of sleep, limp and weak and free from the pain tearing him apart.

And when he dreamed of a warm body beside him – hair like dark, smooth chocolate and eyes the colour of a storm at sea; eyes that saw past the façade of Crown-Prince to _him_, seeing _Cloud_ behind the silver-gilt armour and the mask of a warrior, something he so desperately needed – then he was grateful, grateful for the protecting arms around him, grateful for the warmth and the companionship and the voice that whispered to him, hugging him tight and promising _Ssh, it'll be ok…It'll be all right…ssssshhhhh…_

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

Riku jerked, biting back a cry as Yazoo scraped his teeth over the Star's hard length, the heat of his mouth unbearable with the incredible feelings swirling through him like a maelstrom.

The cords around his wrists bit into his skin as his eyes closed, tears of shame and disgust and liquid longing overflowing the teal gems. His hands were bound over his head, tied high up on one of the bedposts, and the Flames were taking full advantage of his position – stretched and on his knees, hands above his head. If he'd had his arms, he would have been on all fours – but as it was, his hands were taking the strain of his weight, and he tried, so hard, to focus on the pain in his wrists – desperately trying to concentrate on the growing agony of the ropes biting into his hands.

Kadaj's mouth left his entrance for a moment as the Fire Prince moaned, his silver hair brushing over Riku's hips as Loz thrust hard, unexpectedly switching the rhythm. Riku felt Kadaj buck, gasping, before his hot tongue returned, impaling Riku once more and twisting sharply, his lips closing over the Star's pulsing entrance.

Riku whimpered, pressing his eyes tightly shut as he bit his lower lip, feeling the swell of blood stain his teeth. It felt amazing; all of it. It was hot and wet and delicious, heady as a drug. It blew his mind to spiralling heights, lightning flowing through him with each sucking kiss of Yazoo's swollen lips, shuddering with the pleasure, eyes clouded as Kadaj impaled him with his tongue.

He couldn't stop his hips rolling, eyes closed in shame as he felt the two Flames working him smirk, and the wet sucking sounds from Yazoo got louder, the pressure harder. Kadaj thrust deeper, pushed further forward as Loz took him hard, and Riku could feel the Flame's moans inside him.

It was too much.

Crying out, arching as far as he could against the rope-burns on his wrists, he nearly screamed as a tsunami of sensation tore through him, shaking his mortal body like a leaf in the midst of a storm. He lost control as his eyes flashed pure, Star-light-white, streams of radiance that poured out of his aquamarine gaze for a split instant, his hips jerking forward into Yazoo and back onto Kadaj, blood trickling down to his elbows as the tortured skin on his wrists finally tore.

He fell limp, trembling and weak as a kitten as he sagged against the bedpost, leaning his sweaty forehead against the cool wood, trying not to hear the laughter coming from the three Flames – dark delight.

Yazoo pressed a kiss to his parted mouth, tongue darting to give him a taste of himself – sweet and salty, deliciously so under any other circumstances. But Riku jerked back, disgusted, and Yazoo only laughed as he slipped past the Star, leaving Riku limp and bleeding as the three Flames completed their games, whispering and panting and gasping until the muffled cries from behind him signalled their end.

He felt the cords disappear like glowing smoke; and he fell, weak and still trembling, into Loz's strong arms. He shuddered as Loz laughed quietly into his ear, pressing a mockingly gentle kiss to the side of his throat.

"The toy likes to play with us, Prince," he whispered, just loud enough for the others to hear him. "Likes what we do to him. Likes how we make him feel."

The warrior's hand ran up and down Riku's chest idly, nails whispering over his skin.

"What does that make him?" Loz asked mockingly, and Riku turned his face away to hide his tears as the hand reached between his thighs. "A Fallen Star?"

The others laughed, and, satisfied, Loz released him, pushing him onto his stomach on the blankets as the warrior curled up with the Yazoo and Kadaj, the Fire Prince entwined between his two guards, one hand reaching back for Yazoo's hair and the other curling around Loz's neck sleepily. Loz's head rested beside Kadaj's on the pillow, and Yazoo nuzzled his face into the crook of their Prince's shoulder.

And Riku was left alone, naked and bleeding and trying, so hard, not to cry.

(0)

Sleepy blue eyes fluttered open at the sound of a door opening, the near-silent creak of hinges and the whisper of leather as someone entered the room. Light filtered in from the hallway, pooling in a smooth circle just inside the door as the shadowed figure stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him.

"Seph?" He whispered, brushing at his eyes as he made to sit up, candlelight sparking into existence as he waved his hand in a small circle, lazuli magik glowing softly for a moment as he lit the lamps scattered around the room. "Is that you?"

The Witch-King smiled softly, silver hair shining in the dim light as he slipped out of the leather dress-armour, the cloth whispering as it fell to the floor, leaving the Flame deliciously bare as he crossed the floor, pressing a light, gentle kiss to his lover's mouth before slipping beneath the covers.

His lover sighed with contentment as Sephiroth's arms circled his waist, pulling them closer together, and the ebony-haired Witch nuzzled into the King's chest, entwining their legs beneath the blankets as Sephiroth rested his cheek on the black hair, kissing his forehead softly.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, and as his lover relaxed inside the comforting safety of the Witch-King's arms, Sephiroth willed the lights out of existence, blanketing the royal suite in velvet shadows.

And the dawn light from the curtained window falls on a silver ring – bright and smooth and inset with beautiful, elegant emeralds that match the Witch-King's sleeping eyes.

* * *

AN Can you guess who Seph's Other is? )grins( Come on, I gave you a biiiiiig clue!

Also - I KNOW human come doesn't taste sweet, kay? But these guys are Witches - biologically different species. Ok? Yes? Thankyou.

Please review and tell me how I did! )puppy eyes( You know you want to...


	7. Names Mean Everything

**Hey everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long! None of my stories (bar Heart's Choice) is on hiatus, it's just that my life's REALLY busy right now!  
**

**I'd like to apologise to my beta – after so long, I actually no longer remember which beta is for which story. So if you could drop me a msg or review or something – or even email me, you should have my address – I'll be glad to start working with you again. Sorry about this one-off!**

**Anyway – enjoy, everyone! Your questions as to Sephiroth's life-partner are finally answered! (I'm proud to say most of you got it right!)**

* * *

Chapter Seven – Names Mean Everything

North London

_Sora?_

The cinnamon-haired twin tossed in his sleep, cute face frowning at the voice inside his mind. His hands curled in the faintly scratchy covers, sighing as he nuzzled the pillow.

_Sora! Wake up!_

He pouted, squeezing his eyes firmly shut, determined to stay in the nice warm bed.

"Right, that's it!"

Sora yelped as the blanket was suddenly yanked back, exposing him to the chilly air from the open window. He curled up reflexively into a ball, but his brother's freezing fingers curled around his wrists, tugging him off the bed, and Sora was forced to uncurl if he didn't want to end up falling on the floor.

He pouted at his blond reflection, but Roxas ignored it, already pulling out clothes for his brother to wear from the drawer they'd been given in the room's chest of drawers. Sora caught the garments as they were tossed at him, hurrying to get dressed so as to get warm, reluctant to spend more time than absolutely necessary bared to the cold winds streaming in from outside.

Pulling the jumper over his head, cinnamon spikes pointing in every direction, he glanced over the room as he reached for the socks. "Where is everyone?"

Roxas glanced away from the window to answer. "Downstairs. That's why I've been trying to get you up – it's open morning."

Sora frowned as he tied the laces of the worn-out sneakers he'd been given the day before. "Like a school?"

"No," Roxas shook his head, standing as his twin finished dressing, opening the door of the bedroom for him as they made their way downstairs. "This is an orphanage, not a school, 'ra. It's an open-morning for prospective _parents_."

(0)

Squall sighed, rubbing the back of his head as Rinoa chatted animatedly with the woman showing them around the St Christopher'sorphanage.

He couldn't stop thinking about his dream the night before. It had been at the forefront of his mind when he woke up this morning, and had stayed there, crisp and clear as the scent of snow since then.

Someone crying…A man, he thought, younger than him, with the most beautiful blond hair…He'd been wearing something strange, though – like black armour, and silver covering the back of his hands – a sword, and a cloak…He'd looked like a prince from a fairytale, or a god from one of the old stories.

And he'd been crying. Shaking, sobbing his heart out on a silk-sheeted bed, and it had torn him apart to watch. He'd wrapped his arms around this prince, kissing his temple, his neck, brushing his hair, telling him it would be all right…

But would it, really?

He doubted it, but said nothing of his thoughts, keeping his face carefully blank as Rinoa walked further into the room, going down on her knees before a small knot of five and six year olds playing with coloured bricks near the centre of the floor. In moments, she was eagerly accepted into their game, laughing along with them as she easily slipped into their brightly-coloured world with its simple rules of black and white.

He didn't know how she did it. It always, always stunned him how much children seemed to love her, how well she could interact with and care for them. When he'd first met her in college, when all the other women were going to be lawyers and doctors, were going to have high-paid careers at the top of their spectrums…Rinoa had wanted to be a mother. Had competed in Judo and studied art and dreamed of her own children.

Which was why she'd been crushed when the doctors told them she was infertile. She had broken down crying, right there in the hospital bed, and it had taken Squall's all to calm her, soothing and whispering and holding her tight, stroking her hair as she cried her heart clean of it's broken dreams.

But that had been months ago, and she had quickly resolved that dreams didn't have to stay the same forever – you could edit them. They could change and evolve, and that was what she let hers do – she changed her desires.

They decided to adopt.

"Are they all here?" Squall asked the woman at his side, his eyes on his wife playing with the little children, her eyes alight with such happiness it tugged at his heart. "My wife and I weren't able to decide on an age-group, so we'd appreciate being shown all the children here."

The red-head nodded, her hair flowing in curving waves to her shoulders, her glasses shielding ice-blue eyes. "Our teenagers are in the next room along, if you wish to see them…?"

Squall nodded, carefully picking his way across the toy-strewn floor to kneel next to Rinoa, her delicate hands curled around the square bricks as she placed them in line with the others, forming the base of a wall. Her hair shone as she cocked her head, frowning as she carefully placed a triangular block on top of the tower.

It wobbled, but didn't fall.

"Do you want to see the older ones?" Squall asked her quietly, feeling the warmth in his heart at seeing his wife so happy. She hadn't looked like this since before the hospital…She deserved to be like this all the time.

Rinoa nodded, smiling and waving goodbye to the children she'd been playing with, taking Squall's hand as they followed their guide through into another room.

There were fewer children here, but that was to be expected, really – there were six, a mixture of boys and girls, occupying themselves with homework or books, and they seemed so tense and nervous it was painful.

Beside him, he could feel Rinoa's heart go out to them, and he squeezed her hand, humbled by her…her _love_, the open-ness of her heart, the way it swelled to encompass everyone she met.

It was why he'd fallen in love with her. Because that heart had been big enough for him, too, when he was an outcast among his peers – cold, moody, silent, avoiding social contact because he'd learned that it _hurt_, that people just used and abused you and it _hurt_.

But he hadn't managed to close his heart completely; and the formal letter from his parent's lawyer, informing him that he'd been disowned, had managed to find its way through the cracks in his armour. And it had been Rinoa that found him in the college gardens, one of the handful of times in his life that he'd been crying.

Had been Rinoa that had taken him into her heart.

Suddenly, the door across the room opened, and another pair of teenagers stepped through – twins, a matching set. The cinnamon-haired looked distinctly more nervous, his hand tight on his brother's, but the blond seemed cool and composed, eyes clear and bright when they met Squall's.

_Electric. Thrumming. Powerful._

Startled, Squall nearly took a step back, but stopped himself as he realised Rinoa's eyes were fixed on the other twin, the brunet chewing his lip, cute face nervous and a little scared.

Slowly, Rinoa let go of his hand, leaving him alone by the door as she crossed over to the twins, smiling brightly as she extended her hand towards them.

"Hi," she said softly, as you might to a wild bird you wanted to feed from your hand. "I'm Rinoa. What are your names?"

The blond blinked slowly, clearly thinking, but the brunet relaxed, a cheeky grin stretching across his face as he took Rinoa's hand. "Nice to meet you, Rinoa. I'm Sora, and this is my brother Roxas."

Sora nodded to his twin, who smiled politely, taking Rinoa's hand as Sora let go. "Hi. I'm Roxas, as my little bro just told you." He grinned as he took his own hand back, careful to take his brother's once more before looking over Rinoa's shoulder. "Is that your husband?"

"You bet." She smiled as she beckoned Squall over, interlinking her fingers with his as he stepped up beside her. "This is Squall. He looks scary, but he's a big softie really."

Squall pretended to sigh, rolling his eyes. "Thank you, Rinoa. You just _ruined_ the fearful impression I was preparing to give."

Sora and Rinoa both laughed, and Roxas broke into another smile. The two boys seemed perfectly normal, and he could already see that Rinoa was going to have the perfect partner in crime with Sora. Maybe Roxas would be a boost for the sanity in their household, Squall wondered as the four of them moved to a private room to talk things over. He'd sure as hell need it if there were _two_ pranksters living in the house.

He decided he must have imagined the strange sensation of a maelstrom of power within Roxas' eyes.

Clan-Home of the Star-Clan

"Oi! Someone open up, yo!"

Cid rolled his eyes at the red-headed Witch banging loudly on the Clan-Home gates. "What the hell makes you think they'll open up just because you shatter 'em? You so much as scratch that paint, and the wards'll be going off like a volcanic eruption. So sit tight and shut it, yeh daft red-headed…"

Reno raised an eyebrow as Cid continued to mutter, chewing the pointed tooth-pick and seemingly uninterested in the two of them ever getting inside the Clan-Home.

"I'm the joint Archangel of the Stars!" He yelled over the gates, starting to grow pissed. "And whoever turned the coding-spells off, you'd better not show your face around me for a month!"

Usually, a Star could place their hand in the silver square inset into the wall of the gates. Their spread fingers ringed in glittering chips of spell-charged quartz and crystal, the wards set into the grounds would read their magikal signature and open to let them pass – but some dim-wit had turned them off, leaving the grounds in lock-down.

And it wasn't even as if you could climb over the wall. Forgetting the fact that it was almost eleven feet high, the wards were woven into the mortar of the walls. Crossing them, whether through the gate or swinging yourself over, still set off the protective, defensive, and offensive spells designed during the Clan-Wars of the last millennium, when the Flames had come into power. Passing them without the spells recognising you was suicide.

"Where the fuck _is_ everyone, yo?" Reno yelled, eyes blazing as he glared at the intricate silver gate. "We've been in Fire-Clan territory for a gods-damn-_week_, so could someone open the fucking – "

A flash of Lifestream, the Star-Clan magik, flared like a strobe light through the walls, and soundlessly the gates split in half and swung inwards, transforming Reno's righteous fury into a cheeky grin.

"That's more like it!" He declared, quickly slipping through, Cid following close behind. The barrier of entwined silver closed behind them, and the two Witches glanced to the right, looking to the small hut from which the gates were usually manned.

But it was empty, and Cid frowned as they made towards the driveway, wondering what was going on. The gates were never left untended – what if an unexpected envoy from another Clan arrived? Or if some of the Clan's business associates in the human world needed to discuss something important? It could be anything, and for that reason there was always a pair of Angels on guard at the South Gate.

Reno yelled, and Cid's head swung to the sound, his long, thin lance instantly in his hand as his arm swung to point the jagged tip at the new arrival.

"Woah!" Yuffie laughed, holding her hands up in mock-surrender. "Just me, Cid! Reno wasn't watching where he was going – poor wittle thing got a scare!"

She giggled, and the other two Angels relaxed, Cid's weapon sliding back into the sheath strapped along his back. As the spear-head tapped the trigger of the invisibility spell in the hilt, the whole weapon shimmered out of sight – still there, a reassuring weight on his back, but un-seeable to all but himself until he removed it from the sheath again.

"What have we missed?" Cid asked bluntly, as Yuffie started leading them up the driveway. "Why wasn't anyone mann'in the gate?"

Abruptly, Yuffie's face fell, and her step faltered as she looked away from them, biting her lip nervously as she sought the words.

Cid frowned, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, the tooth-pick sliding in between his fingers, but Reno interrupted his t thought process.

"Yuffie…Where's your Guadianship?"

The lance-bearer's eyes glanced to Yuffie's neck in an automatic response, and he stared at her, shocked, when he didn't see the customary Guardianship pendant swinging from its chain around her neck.

Her hand went automatically to her throat, but it paused as it reached her collar; and it flexed, as if she were aching to hold something.

Reno's face hardened. "Yuffie, you're one of Riku's Guardians. Why aren't you wearing the Guardianship?" The pewter disc bordered in vines, a five-pointed star raised out of the metal and woven with a rose: the centre clutched a moonstone to indicate one of Riku's Guardians. A Guardian wore their Guardianship twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – they never took it off. It gave them the authority to escort their guarded even in one of the other Kingdoms – it gave them the right to _kill_ in defence of the one they protected.

"_This_, Yuffie," Reno snarled, tugging at the chain under his shirt, showing her his own Guardianship – this one clutching a diamond. Zack had been a star sapphire, the gem smooth and shining black; Cloud's symbol was the common sapphire; Aerith's Guardians bore rose quartz; and Riku's was moonstone. But a diamond was a symbol for the royal family as a whole – each and every Heir to the Clan-Crown. "_This_. Why aren't you wearing it? Who gave you permission to take it off? Did Tifa – ?"

Yuffie shook her head, her eyes focussed sadly on the sparkling gem at the centre of Reno's Guardianship – and Cid thought he saw tears in the female Angel's eyes as she looked quickly away, beckoning them to follow her up to the house.

"All the Guardianships for Riku are being reclaimed," she said quietly, the usual light and laughter that emanated from her gone like leaves in the wind. "We don't need them anymore."

Both the other Angels froze, exchanging shocked glances – Reno's mouth dropped. "What the _hell_?"

Yuffie turned back to her Archangel, her eyes sad and quiet. "You missed a lot while you were away, sir."

(0)

"Somebody bring me to the Crown-Prince Cloud, _now_!"

Vincent opened one eye lazily as the shouting from the entrance hall worked its way upstairs onto the first floor landing. The Third – no, the Second-Heir had barely slept the night past, sitting cross-legged outside the door to Cloud's bedchamber while his cousin drifted through hopefully dreamless sleep.

Elegantly, Vincent climbed to his feet, smoothing the creases from his red velvet finery with a small charm as he hesitated over waking the Crown-Prince. The lack of sleep didn't bother him – no one knew exactly what had run in his father's line, but it hadn't been human and it hadn't been Witch. But no one complained – mostly because it gave him the ability to perform feats he would not usually be capable of, like keeping pace with Cloud's horse the night before. He was faster and physically stronger than any Witch he had ever met, making him the perfect unofficial guard for his cousin – and, since he didn't plan on passing down the unknown genes to any children, there were no objections to be made.

And, of course, it meant he could get away with very little sleep.

Still, he hesitated. Cloud couldn't, though. His cousin needed rest…And Vincent doubted the Crown-Prince would be able to face the world this morning.

Decided, he flit silently down the main staircase, a shadowed blur of darkened velvet as he drew up beside the Archangel Reno. Surrounding him and Cid were a handful more Witches, most wearing Cloud's Guardianships, and they all fell silent as he stepped into place beside them.

Reno jumped, but quickly covered the slip with loud anger. "Vincent! Where the hell is Cloud, yo? What's this about Riku being betrothed to _Kadaj_?" He waved his hand at the general surroundings. "These morons won't tell me a bloody _thing_, yo!"

Vincent fixed wine-red eyes on him, dismissing the surrounding Witches with a wave of his hand. Cid watched them leave, but the joint Archangel and Second-Heir locked gazes.

"Let us take this somewhere more private," Vincent ordered quietly, leading the two Angels into another room. The door shut with a final-sounding_ click_ as Vincent took a seat in one of the leather armchairs, the folds of his red velvet cloak pouring like blood over the chair and onto the floor; Cid took a place against the wall, leaning his weight against the green wallpaper, patterned with forest leaves and jade shadows.

And Reno paced – furiously, his Night-Stick in his hand, crackling with Lifestream magik and tamed lightning, glowing with its wielder's anger. His hands ran through his spiked hair, pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down his back but crackled with static, sparks of gold leaping for his fingertips before the Archangel reached for the Guardianship medallion around his neck.

Vincent said nothing as the leader of the Clan's Angels traced the star raised on the metal, fingertips smoothing over the cool diamond as his eyes stuttered closed.

"Vin, you'd better tell me where the _fuck_ the Second-Heir is, or I _swear_…" Bright green eyes opened again, but it wasn't hard to see the pain veiled behind burning anger, the desperation shadowing the fury.

"Where's the boy, Vincent?" Cid echoed from his perch near the wall, eyes dark and hard. "Yeh can't betrothe an Heir without the Archangel being present fer the ceremony, so where's Riku?"

Vincent met their twin gazes calmly – one burning with anger and pain, the other cold and clear. He crossed one leg over the other, trying to appear at ease – it would not be good to give the impression that the Clan would overly suffer because of this…

"Tifa was present," he murmured, keeping his expression clear. "Under the Laws, that was enough."

For a moment, nothing; Reno gaped, freezing in his frenzied pacing of the carpet, fingers clenched tight around his Night-Stick, knuckles pale as bone.

"_What?!_" He yelled, whirling on his heel to bring the Stick, winding with emerald snakes of light, to point straight at the new Second-Heir. "_You fucking sent him to the Fire-Clan?! He's not fucking Safe, you moron! They'll tear him apart until there's nothing left of him!_"

Claret-red eyes blinked slowly. "There was no other option, Reno. You don't know the full story – "

The Archangel slammed his hand down on an ebony coffee-table, only a foot away from Vincent's elbow. "_Then fucking tell me! _And you'd better have had a _damn good reason_, Vincent, or I'll go and bring him back myself!"

In half an instant, Reno found himself slammed against the opposite wall, his Night-Stick tumbling from suddenly limp fingers as Vincent's gold hand curled around his throat, blood-dark eyes narrowed as he snarled.

"If you think I'll let you start a war after everything we went through last night, just tell me now and I'll slit your throat."

Gold, clawed fingers rested at the hollow of Reno's collarbone, tracing runes of death and promise with a feather-light touch: the Archangel shivered, twisting in the Heir's grip, liquid light flowing down his arms in hissing snakes – but they didn't even touch Vincent. Reno had enough of his logic left not to attack an Heir.

"A…War?" He gasped, eyes closing as he turned his face away, hiding bright eyes behind pale lids. "What…?"

Abruptly, Vincent released him, and the burning in his throat evaporated with his first breath, a hand going to massage the finger-cast bruises on his neck as the Heir turned away, returning to his chair between one step and the next, a shadowed blur.

"Sephiroth asked for Cloud at the Clan-Meet," he said simply, voice and face as calm as if nothing had happened. "To save the line, Riku switched them – offered himself instead."

Again, that flicker of pain across the Angel's face, but it was Cid that spoke, shaking his head. "Ahh, kid…Always knew he was brave, but I didn't think he'd go and do somethin' that stupid…"

It was as if all Reno's strength had left him – he clutched at the wall just to stand, his Night-Stick leaping to his hand with the barest thread of Lifestream. "But…He's not Safe…"

"We know," Vincent told him softly. "Cloud broke down after they took him – it was only last night…There was nothing we could do if we didn't want to start a war. The Stars aren't ready – we wouldn't be able to withstand the Flames unprepared. Even as it is, we'll be organising new training regimes – I think it unlikely that the Flames will stop with Riku."

"What do you mean, he broke down?" Reno asked sharply, a spark returning to him as his protective instincts for the Heirs took over again. "Explain, would yah?"

Vincent looked to him. "He cried himself to sleep, Reno. He couldn't fall into dreams until I cast a sleeping-hex, and even then I caught him crying in his sleep for a while." His eyes hardened. "It will take him time to accept Riku's absence, and it will not occur to him that he himself is not safe."

"Of course," Cid muttered, shaking his head once more. "The Flames'll want Cloud dead for the territory. With Kadaj Handfastened to Riku, the lands'd go to them through the marriage…Or can you inherit?"

Vincent hesitated as Reno whirled on him. "The Laws are unclear on this point. It may be that, if Cloud was killed, I could take control of the Clan, but with my shadowed blood-line I doubt I would be eligible. It is likely that, as you say, Riku would inherit the Territory – and so, it would pass to Kadaj and the Fire-Clan."

Reno cursed, kicking at the carpet as he began his pacing again, muttering under his breath. "Cloud will need twenty-four hour protection – four Guardians in the Territory, six when he leaves it…Sephiroth won't want to leave any loose ends in his plan." He glanced at Vincent. "Are we sure that he's really trying to pull off a campaign of this complexity? It's almost as if…"

"…He wants to rule," Vincent finished for him, eyes narrowing. "The Flames have always been unhappy with their lot, and it would surprise me not at all if Sephiroth has decided to instate the Fire-Clan as the rulers of us all."

"Make himself High-King," Cid muttered, thinking. "We're gonna need the Shadows with us if you're right, Vin."

He waved his hand, standing from the chair as he swept to the door. "Talk to Tifa, Reno, but ensure Cloud is protected. I doubt he will leave his room today, but the moment he does we must re-organise the Clan."

Gold-cast hand on the door handle, he turned to look back at the two Angels. "Riku's sacrifice bought us some time, but we're not in the all-clear. We must prepare for war."

Clan-Home of the Shadow-Clan

Axel's eyes snapped open as he sat upright suddenly, bright eyes blazing as ropes of fire hissed down his arms, coiling like armour over his skin in the silent room, breath harsh and fast as if he'd spent hours running for his life.

_A speck of ruby like a rose encased in glass…_

Slowly, he forced himself to relax, the sunlight streaming in from the window smoothing over the golden plains of his bare chest as he calmed, re-calling the fire from his skin and back into his flesh. The golden energy back-tracked from flame to liquid heat, coiling through his blood and muscle, twisting around his bones like gold wire decorating slick pearl as he anchored himself in the real world.

Deep breaths…In…Out…In…Out…

Feeling more stable, he flipped the creased sheets back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand, running a single hand through his spiked-up hair as he remembered his dream, crossing the heated marble floor to fling back the door of his wardrobe, his thoughts on his Other as he picked out an outfit mindlessly. Tossing the clothes on the bed, he headed for the ensuite bathroom, eyes glazed.

Steam misted the wall-length mirror as the nearly boiling water streamed down from the shower-head, a dragon's heated tears that slicked his burning hair down his back as he leaned against the tiled wall, baring his throat to the heat's harsh bite. His eyes closed in a deep pleasure, he hummed softly as he shifted, working the ginger-scented lotion into his locks, washing the foam from his hair quickly.

That blond boy…The one with the black sword. Axel frowned as he leaned under the spray, rubbing his shoulders to work out the kinks – he must have slept restlessly at some point last night…It was the first time he'd seen his life-partner bearing a blade, and he'd been startled to see how well the weapon suited him – his Other had fought as though born to do so, the sword an extension of his arm, glittering with a fierce light as it sliced through the very air, his eyes blazing with the kind of battle-fury he'd only seen in a handful of his soldiers.

And to see him cut down…The Shadow-Prince grit his teeth as he reached for the conditioner, the substance cool and slick in his scorched-red palms. It had summoned his fire even as he slept – something that had never happened before, even in the worst of the nightmares after his mother died. It had risen his blood to boiling – he had wanted to _burn_, to unleash his soul-fire on those that had hurt his Other: watch the burnished gold of that woman's gown char and crumble into black ash as the skin beneath was licked red and raw from the heat, her hair dissolving into glowing threads of flame as her eyes drowned in fear and pain.

The water hissed as it hit his skin, forming steam before it even had a chance to dampen him as he struggled to keep his fire under control. His breath hissed between his teeth as a wave of steam enveloped the room, his hands fisting against the wall as he tried to stay calm.

_Thrust, parry, duck, leap, thrust, thrust, feint-slash duck again._

And just like that, his fury was banked – he felt his hands uncurl as he relaxed, his mind playing the soothing images over and over again for him. The bright glint of sapphire eyes through the helm's visor; the flurry of golden hair that brushed out from the base of the helmet, bouncing up in sunrise spikes as it was pulled from his head. The sweeping arc of his arm as he swung the blade; the intense concentration, the ease and flow and grace of him. The way he seemed to _dance_ with his opponent – each meeting of blades a kiss of metal, each step aside and elegant leap, each slash and strike and thrust an impassioned promise.

_Dodge, feint to the left, slash, thrust, feint-parry, leap and dodge._

He could feel the heat beginning to return – a different fire this time, one he wasn't so willing to snuff out. Slow, and liquid – languid, and easy. Golden and warm, sweet and hot.

What would the blond feel like in his arms? He was so _small_ – would he slide perfectly into place, his head resting on the Prince's chest? Would he sigh and nuzzle and be content, or kiss and lick and tease? Would he let himself be weak and protected, or would he fight tooth and nail to be on an equal footing? Did he prefer peppermint or chocolate? Red or blue? Soft and tender, or hard and passionate?

_Duck, thrust, duck and dodge, thrust, step forward, dance to the side and bring your blade up to crash into the other's._

But at least, Axel thought to himself as he turned the water off, reaching for a fluffy towel as he stepped from the shower, dripping on the floor as he dried himself off, hesitant to use his fire with the memories of his Other's pain so close to the surface – at least the blond wasn't with them anymore. Wasn't with those seven women in their thrones. _That_ part of the dream had been hazed, softened and blurred slightly – the past.

The blond was closer than he had been. Still not close enough – he would _never_ be close enough, not until they were joined with the three cords by a Priestess – but clos_er_. He was coming.

And Axel still didn't know his name.

North London

"How soon can we take them home?"

Their guide smiled brightly at Rinoa, his wife's enthusiasm shining out of her eyes like bright sunlight. He could feel it warming him through their linked fingers, and he gave one of his rare, small smiles as she turned her happy grin on him.

"Well, you were checked over when you entered the process…" Brenda told them, flipping pages over in her clip board as she inspected various forms. "And all your forms have been filled out…"

Rinoa's hand squeezed his tighter.

"So…about a week?" Brenda smiled brightly, looking from one to the other of the couple before her, her eyes twinkling at Rinoa's ecstatic hugging, throwing her arms around her husband with an excited laugh.

Squall smiled into her hair as he held her close, offering the grounding for her excitement, her energy tinged with nervousness – he could almost _feel_ the questions snapping like serpents in her mind. _What if something goes wrong? What if they don't like us? What if they don't like _me

"Could you give us a moment, please?" He asked quietly, storm-grey eyes meeting Brenda's liquid brown, resting his cheek against the top of Rinoa's head.

Smiling gently, the woman nodded, quickly exiting the hallway, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The two of them smiled as they heard a group of six year olds squeal in delight as they recognised their friend, and Squall could only imagine how poor Brenda must be faring, with the pack of small children _literally_ clinging to her skirt.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Squall whispered, stroking his wife's black hair, the hawk's plumage of brown highlights picked out in the light from the hall's window. He felt her arms tighten. "They _do_ like us, and they're going to absolutely _love_ you."

He pulled back slightly so he could meet her eyes. "All right?"

She smiled, nodding, and bashfully brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, the tell-tale glitter smudging like diamonds over her knuckles. "Yep."

"Ok then." He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, entwining their fingers as he smiled again. Just a small smile – even after the last two years, he couldn't manage a big, heart-on-sleeve grin – but it was enough for anyone that knew how to read him.

Rinoa smiled back, already tugging him towards the door to follow Brenda, child-like in her enthusiasm – but Squall couldn't find it in him to protest, his misgivings about Roxas long gone after the two hours the four of them had spent talking.

Rinoa deserved anything she wanted if it made her happy.

(0)

Roxas was quiet as Squall and Rinoa left the room, the ebony-haired woman waving as her husband led her out the door, smiling brightly and promising to return. Sora had curled up on the dark green armchair, cinnamon hair crushed against the arm and hands wrapped around his knees, eyes blank and staring again.

His brother bit his lower lip, worried. Sora had been laughing with Rinoa – happy and bubbly and talkative, regaling their prospective mother with the fairy-tale Roxas used to send him to sleep every night. The fantasy of their life, woven in with magical spells and talking animals, angels and potions and far-away lands…

It had come into his mind that first night in the orphanage, as Sora was climbing into bed. The blond remembered feeling uneasy, full of nervous energy. He'd had this feeling that he was too far away from his twin – vague images of beds pushed across the floor until they lay next to each other filled the forefront of his mind, shadowed pictures of Sora creeping under the covers until they lay together like puppies in a basket.

And he might have been onto something; because Sora couldn't sleep – had crept like a whisper across the floor to climb into Roxas' bed, silent with pain and confusion and a wordless, needy longing for human warmth, for a touch to take the pain away.

Roxas hadn't said a word – hadn't asked why his twin needed the comfort. Had just taken him in his arms and started to whisper, weaving a story out of the fevered flashes of gold and bright white inside his head to soothe his brother into dreams.

_Once upon a time, there lived a boy in the heart of the world…_

Sora sighed on the chair, relaxing as the quiet whispers reached across to the cinnamon-haired's mind through the bond they shared.

_And he not only lived in the world's heart, but he _was_ the heart…And so, when he realised he was lonely, the magic of the world made him a friend – another boy. The heart called this new creature his brother, and his brother smiled, and vowed to protect him from those that wished him harm…_

That was how it started. A boy that was the incarnated form of the world's heart…A boy with a brother that protected him.

Take away the magic. Take away the black sword the brother could call with a wish – take away the race of angels the heart of the world had to save. Take away the council of evil sorceresses searching for them, and the story was the same as real life.

Because Roxas would protect his brother. If Rinoa and Squall weren't the people they pretended to be – if they would turn dark and twisted the moment they left the door – then Roxas would protect him. If the shadowed threat that itched at his mind tried to hurt Sora, then he would destroy it. If anyone tried to take Sora away from him…

He glanced down at his hand, flexing it, brows furrowed. He remembered the woman who had tried to separate them. Her blue eyes had been shining with fury that he dared oppose her decision, and her hair had seemed so bright under the glow from the lights…It had tricked him into thinking the blonde locks were on fire.

And then they were…Just like that.

"Sora?" He whispered, looking back at his brother. "You asleep?"

He didn't get an answer – but it was answer enough.

He chewed his lip again as he stood, still worried as he left the room quietly. All Sora seemed to do was sleep and doze – the light and laughter with Rinoa was the most Roxas had seen of him since they…since they woke up on the orphanage's doorstep. Literally.

But there was that _sense_ – that knowledge that Sora wasn't supposed to be like this. That laughter, that grin, those jokes and that _light_ – they were what he was meant to be seeing.

Not the curled up, blank-eyed boy that seemed too empty for tears.

What had happened to them?

Clan-Home of the Fire Clan

It hurt so much he could barely move.

His eyes slowly opened, the light from the window streaming in to shine gold and amber through his eyelids until he woke, and he shivered, wincing as he uncurled from his position on the corner of the rumpled sheets. He had to tug on his hands to break the connection of sticky blood holding his wrists to his knees, biting his lip to keep from making a sound.

It hurt to breathe.

Not physically. His chest seemed fine; his lungs unhurt. The muscles in his legs trembled a little, but that was probably because he'd been curled up all night. His neck ached a bit, but for the same reason.

Once, when he was a few years younger, a Witch had gone missing from the Clan. Riku knew her – the girl had been part of the group of younger Witches he had used to play with, before his soul started to ache for freedom from the Clan-Home's high walls – and he'd been just as worried as all the rest. Zack had dispatched the Angels to find the child – it became everyone's top priority to get her back.

Almost a month later, Yuffie and Tifa had returned to the Clan-Home with the little girl in front of Yuffie in the saddle.

Riku and the other children had been sent to their rooms as the adult Witches gathered in the central hall, Healers running for supplies, herbs and potions and bandages. But there was nothing they could do.

Riku had snuck down the stairs as quietly as a cat, crouching near the keyhole of the door to see what had happened to his friend, silver hair not quite so bright in the shadows. He could see his friend lying on her back on a cot, blood staining her long skirt. Her clothes were tattered – ripped apart by an animal, he thought – and there were half-empty glass bottles of potions scattered all over the bed. Aerith had been talking to Zack, quietly, in a corner of the room – and though his little friend had been asleep, her face drawn and tired, his big sister had been crying.

He'd seen the moment that rage and pain flashed across Zack's face – had seen his brother truly furious for the first time in his life.

The Crown Prince crossed the room, gently brushing past his sister to come and kneel beside the bed, his hand brushing back the little girl's brunette locks; and Riku's breath caught as the gloved hand revealed hideous bruises from behind her hair.

"How are you feeling?" Zack whispered, his voice tear-stained, and Riku could never say how he'd been able to hear his brother, but he did – maybe it was something the universe thought he needed to hear, needed to learn, because he heard his friend's reply, too –

"My soul hurts."

His little friend had died a few hours later, her Starfire ripped and torn away and her soul unable to bear the pain.

_My soul hurts._

That was exactly how he felt. As if his soul was aching, throbbing with a shattered agony – and his mind shied away from _why._

_Why_ – had it happened to him? _Why_ – was Kadaj like this? _Why_ – did he have to leave behind any chance of being with his life-partner, the boy with hair like sweet cinnamon and eyes like lazuli?

It – it hurt. It hurt so, so much.

He sat up on the bed, staring at his bloodied wrists for a moment, flexing his fingers.

A small, thin ribbon of emerald light emerged from beneath his little fingernail, winding slowly down his hand in a lithe spiral, soft as silk and shining like a night-light. The blood in it's path vanished with a slight heat, like being washed in hot water, and as it coiled like a bracelet around his wrist he felt the blisters close, heal and fade back into his skin, leaving him unmarked.

It slid through the air to his other hand, mirroring the spell before dissolving into glittering fireflies.

His arms and legs were still sore, his neck still cricked, but he just bore it as he stood up, crossing the floor to find his bag – still lying by the wall where he'd dropped it the night before. Kneeling, face blank against the pain of the cramped muscles, his fingers tore at the sharp-toothed zipper, the satchel parting to reveal the few belongings he'd decided to take with him.

He drew out a simple aquamarine silk shirt, the sleeves long and flowing, reaching down to brush over his knuckles. Edged in silver, it followed the traditional style for a Star-Prince – though the casual blue jeans were simply cut in a Human style, and the sneakers he tugged on over his feet were made by the same high-class designer.

Kadaj and the other two seemed long gone. There was no evidence of them bar the slightly open wardrobe door and the rumpled bedsheets, but he couldn't pretend regret. He wasn't sure if he'd rather leap from the window or give his all in a magikal duel against the Fire-Prince.

If he was a Fallen Star, then surely the least he could do was bring someone down with him.

His stomach felt painfully empty – he couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to eat…He'd been too worried and scared after the Meet, so probably breakfast the day before – and he was exhausted. He didn't want to be up and awake, didn't want to have to face his new…new _life_.

But the thought of staying asleep, defenceless and vulnerable, didn't bear thinking about.

Silent, Riku climbed to his feet, only stumbling slightly as he made his way to the door before he figured out how to compensate for the cramped muscles in his legs. He chose to go left down the hallway, after a momentary pause. Going back in the direction of the Entrance Hall seemed to make sense…He could only hope the Clan-Home's layout was something like the Star-Clan one…

Trying to remember the way Kadaj had led him last night, Riku made his way through the winding passages, barely glancing over the gleaming tapestries and art work proudly displayed on the walls as he passed. He felt numb – in shock, maybe? – and in no mood to play appreciate the paintings and carvings. He just wanted somewhere quiet, somewhere private where he could feel safe to stay and just _think_ – or maybe thinking was a bad idea, really, because he was pretty sure he was just going to break down crying if he stopped moving for even a second.

So he didn't. He kept walking, seeing no one – were they all already up, or did they sleep in? As a Clan of warriors, it was probably the former – and though he almost tripped on the stairs in the Entrance Hall, when he finally pushed open a door two rooms away from the main entrance, he'd found the Breakfast Room.

Or whatever the Flames called it. They probably weren't that civilised. Cultured. Whatever.

The room was huge, with five long, slim tables running up its considerable length. Each one seated somewhere around thirty Flames, but Riku was willing to bet there were far more Clan-Witches than those he was seeing. Cloud did this too – the highest-born Witches dined with the royal family, but if a family was struggling to support itself there were other rooms, with a more laid-back setting, that would provide for them.

He stood at the door, looking over each table to try and work out where he should sit. He was surprised to see that almost all the Witches here had silver hair – the myths about the 'angel-haired demons' were obviously true, then, with a scattering of golden-blondes throughout – but it was still easy to spot Sephiroth and Kadaj, at the head of the central table. Loz and Yazoo were sitting lower down, uncommonly far from their Prince – not that he was complaining.

He didn't want to be anywhere near either of them. Not after…not after last night.

He started to walk forwards, pretty much ignored by everyone in favour of the delicious fare their King had provided for First Meal – again, not that he was complaining – but then he paused, frozen.

Riku wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed immediately. Against the ocean of silver and blonde, one Witch's ebon-black hair stood out, stark and dark against all the light. The warrior was sitting at Sephiroth's right hand, the place of such high status that surely only the Crown-Prince should have had the seat…

Or the Witch-King's life-partner.

But it couldn't be. It just _couldn't be_. Maybe…Maybe he couldn't see from here. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him from too little sleep.

He looked away as he took his seat next to Kadaj, keeping his gaze on the table ad his face hidden by his hair as Sephiroth greeted him, the King's voice warm and surprisingly friendly.

And he heard the voice that had once meant everything to him.

"About time, Seph! I was wondering when I'd get to meet my new in-law!" He knew, without looking, that the man's head would be cocked, eyes bright and laughing. "Well? Let me see the new member of the family!"

Hesitating just a second, Riku looked up, knuckles white as he gripped the table.

Straight into Zack's shocked eyes.

"_Riku_?"

* * *

**AN: So...Who understands the title? Drop a review and let me know how I did! **


	8. Apology

To everyone: I apologise for all the misconceptions about this story

To everyone: I'm very sorry for leaving this fic without an update for so long. In fact, I'm sorry for leaving _all_ of my fanfictions for so long. Life got complicated, my email account almost _died_ and I _might_ have become addicted to roleplays. winces

Anyway, the exams are finally over, and I intend to spend my entire summer holidays working on all my stories.

The only thing I would ask is if anyone would be interested in helping me. It's been so long that I have no idea if I used to have a beta for this, or if she's gone and left me for leaving her so long without an update. If that's the case, I apologise profusely, especially to Lockea Stone, my Silver Prince beta whom I completely adored. But still; if anyone's interested, could they please send me a note, or a review on this chapter? Thank you.

Siavahda

p.s I'm adding this note to all my current fanfictions, but it will be deleted from each story as I add new chapters.


	9. Emerald and Silver

Wow, so it's like I'm on some kind of writing frenzy today! Anyway, this is the fic which, after Silver Prince, had the most requests for an update pending, so it's the one I give you. It's really more of an interlude chapter but it does set things up for chapter 10 - and, finally, the confrontation between Riku and Zack! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eight – Emerald and Silver

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

Riku smiled weakly, all too aware of Kadaj's burning heat beside him, of the Witch-King at the head of the table. "Hi, Zack."

His older brother stared, violet-blue eyes wide with shock. Soft lips parted, almost helplessly, and the silver fork the other Star had held dropped with a clatter onto his plate.

"Riku?" He whispered, not really a question this time – but Riku opened his mouth to answer anyway; until he saw the glittering tears in his older brother's gaze, shining beads that were amethysts against his violet iris'. "I…What…?" He shook his head, black hair rustling, but his eyes never left Riku's sea-green ones. "Oh my god."

It was an almost breathless whisper, and Riku's hands clenched even tighter on the edge of the table: he could feel himself starting to shake. Food had never seemed less appetising, but he couldn't even think of that – he just couldn't stop _looking_ at the brother the whole family had believed was dead for…

For too long.

He'd changed. A little; a lot. He was taller, and his black-feather hair was longer, a little more spiked than Riku remembered. The Star-Prince armour was gone, replaced with gleaming black and silver, stretching down over his arms in intricate swirls and spirals, vines of silver wire that was more ornate than anything that could survive a battlefield.

But it was still. Him.

It felt like forever, and yet not long enough, when Zack broke their stare. Without the slightest sight of self-consciousness, he leaned the short distance to whisper in Sephiroth's ear, his hand finding that of the Witch-King's next to his plate. Numbly, Riku noted and analysed the gesture. It wasn't that of someone coaxing a dominant partner to grant permission. It was a touch shared between lovers, when one sought reassurance from the other.

Whatever was said, Sephiroth nodded, his green eyes unaccountably soft as he watched his – his – watched Zack. He made to kiss him, but Zack's expression twisted into something longing and regretful, and he caught Sephiroth's lips with his finger, shaking his head.

"Not in front of him, Seph," Riku heard him whisper. "Not yet, okay? I need to talk to him first."

Riku swallowed hard at the look the Witch-King shot him then, though it wasn't venomous. More…considering.

Zack didn't wait for anything more. Pushing back from the table, he gestured for Riku to follow him, quick fingers grabbing a few pieces from the spread of food before he headed for the door. Speechless, unable to form a single thought yet, Riku hurried after him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was desperately grateful to get away from Kadaj's presence, but.

But. They'd all thought Zack was _dead._ And, and Riku knew he was meant to feel happy that he wasn't, but – why was his brother _here?_

Zack stayed a few steps ahead, as if he couldn't meet Riku's eyes, until he lead them outside. It was a small enclosed garden, the kind of place Aerith would have loved; there were small fountains of water running over smooth pebbles, classical style statues in small niches, a carpet of moss and flowers. But Riku could barely look at anything but his brother, the silver and black armour bold and bright, like a declaration. Like Sephiroth's brand on Zack's skin.

Zack took a seat on the lip of one of the fountains, head bowed and eyes closed. Riku recognised the pose – it meant he was thinking, arranging his words so that the result would be perfect, would win the hearts of his listeners. It was one of the talents that had made him the perfect Heir. He didn't like seeing Zack prepare to use it on him, and he didn't sit down.

"Don't pull the Crown-Prince act on me," he said bitterly, trying to swallow the bile in his throat. "Just tell me straight, Zack. Or, wait, I guess you don't need to. It's pretty obvious what's going on, right?" He refused to feel guilty when his brother looked up, apology and resignation in his violet eyes.

"It's not like you think," Zack said quietly. "I didn't…Riku, I never wanted to abandon you guys. The Clan. Things just got complicated. I had to make a choice."

"And we weren't good enough? You chose the _Flames_ over your own family?" Riku spat, the hurt spilling out of his lips as poison, just the way it always did. "You were the Heir, Zack! We _needed_ you! The Stars needed their prince, and – and we needed our brother. You _abandoned_ us, for the Witches who murdered our sister!"

Zack's eyes hardened, and he looked away.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused. But what was I supposed to do?" He looked up, challenging. "If I'd told the Clan that Sephiroth was my life-partner – what do you think would have happened? I'd have been branded. Insane. Crazy. Or they'd have thought the Flames were enchanting me, would have gone to war over it. I'd never have been allowed to handfasten with him. And if I had been, how could that work? He's a King, and I was the Crown-Prince. Should we have merged our Clans, joined our territories? No. It would have been chaos. Neither Clan would have stood for it."

He shook his head. "Riku…he's my _life-partner_. My soulmate. Don't look at me like that," he said quietly, as the disgust rolled over Riku's face. "I won't let you judge me, Riku, or anyone else. If I'd stayed, I'd never have been able to be with him. And no one can ask that of another person, to resist that kind of love, to give it up. Not for anyone or anything. I'm sorry. But I couldn't do it."

Riku shook his head in furious denial. "He's not – he _can't _be your life-partner Zack, he's nothing like you! How can someone that twisted be the other half of you?" The Flames and everything they stood for were Zack's complete opposite! The perfect prince, their golden angel, the one all the Stars had agreed would lead them to greatness – the yang to Sephiroth's yin? How could the other side of Zack's coin – bright, glittering gold – be bloodstained iron, rusted and razor-edged? How could that _be?_ "Don't you see, they _must_ have cast some kind of spell – you'd never think something like this if you were yourself!" It made him shudder all over with pain suddenly, realising that Zack must have been trapped here all these years – caught in a web of curses and manipulation. Who knew what Sephiroth had done to him since he disappeared? What kind of torture?

Zack must have seen it in his face, because he pushed himself up from the fountain with a snarl. "Don't you _dare!_" He yelled. "Don't you dare pity me! This is why I kept it secret, Riku! Because I knew none of you would ever believe me!" His eyes burst with violet light, amethysts held up to the noon sun. "I'm not spelled! I'm not Sephiroth's _catamite_! Do you think I'd be wearing this –" He made a sharp gesture at the elegant black and silver armour, finer than anything forged by Star-Clan smiths "- if I was just his toy? Do you think I'd stand as his consort if I didn't mean anything to him?"

_His consort…? _Zack was Sephiroth's consort? Not a King, but a partner in the rule of the Clan nonetheless. A position that put him higher even than Sephiroth's heir. Riku could only stare, thrown. _He wouldn't…_

Seeing his younger brother waver, Zack stilled a moment. His hands fisted at his sides and he closed his eyes, cutting off the indigo light in them.

"He loves me, Riku," he said softly. He looked up, meeting Riku's stunned gaze as he beseeched his brother. _Believe me, support me. Be there for me._ What had happened to the glorious, confident Zack, the prince with the great destiny? _He_ wouldn't have begged Riku like this, begged him to believe that a monster could love.

_Or_, Riku thought suddenly, struck by another painful realisation, _was that Zack just a mask to make the rest of us happy?_

"And I love him," the elder Witch continued, voice dropped to a whisper. The tenseness in him relaxed, and he fell back onto the lip of the fountain like a puppet with his strings cut. "I love him more than anything, Ri. I couldn't change that if I wanted to." He buried his face in his hands. "Please don't ask me to try."

_Please don't abandon me. _Wasn't that why Zack had fled like a thief in the night from his own castle? Because it was better to let his family believe he was dead, than to see hatred and pity and disgust in their eyes? Goddess, he couldn't even imagine what that felt like. And it shamed him, that Zack had been so afraid of his family's reaction that he'd seen no other option but to run. Introducing your life-partner to your family was such a big thing – you were supposed to feel happy and proud, it was meant to be a moment for joy. That was why he'd set up the ball, Riku thought – because centuries of tradition taught that Zack should have been proud.

But it was no wonder he hadn't gone through with it in the end.

"Zack…" Riku didn't know what to say. Especially after his welcome from Kadaj and the prince's guards – his mind flinched away from the memory, nausea clawing at his stomach. Apples never fell far from the tree. Ignoring everything he'd ever been taught about the Flames – how could he be happy for his brother to be bonded to the man that had spawned Kadaj?

"Forget it." Riku looked up from the ground to find Zack pushing back his bangs, only a touch of colour to show he'd been silently crying. Guilt stabbed deep into Riku's gut. "I should have known better than to think a Star could accept it." Standing up, he abruptly smiled, the vulnerable, shaky persona vanished behind what Riku realised really was a mask – the glowing, confident consort. "We should really get back to breakfast. I'm sure Seph's missing us." He cocked his head, the gesture so familiar Riku had to fight not to cry. _I'm sorry!_ "And Kadaj. You really have to tell me how that happened, by the way."

Without another word, Zack walked past him and out of the courtyard, leaving Riku behind to watch helplessly. And to think, he'd been certain it couldn't get any worse.

Goddess, what had he done?

Clan-Home of the Star-Clan

The warmth of his dream still clung to Cloud when he awoke, and for those first few seconds that the sun graced his eyes he was so blissfully happy there seemed nothing in the world could ever be dark or wrong again.

He smiled into his pillow, deliberately still half-asleep so as to hold onto the warm, smouldering glow in his chest a little longer. The warmth of the sunlight falling through the windowpanes and onto his upper body through the sheets echoed the embrace he'd been held in all night, and suddenly it bubbled up and over the container of his heart, joyous and golden and Cloud had to swallow his laughter in case he alerted someone to the fact he was awake.

Virtually all of the Star-Clan Witches had apartments within the Clan-Home, though officially it was the home of the royal family and those apartments belonging to other bloodlines were rarely used for longer than a week or two at a time. But by nature Witches were pack creatures, if such terms could be used for Aware beings and not just animals, and any excuse to gather together was generally taken. There were always a good dozen or more other Witches residing in the manor at any given time – and the Angels, and the royals.

The manor was full this morning. They had gathered for the Clan-Meet, and most had stayed to see their prince betrothed, and sent off. The manor was loud with the preparations for the departure of all those Witches. Cloud could hear the bustle without even trying.

He rolled onto his side, gazing sightlessly out of the window, a smile upon his lips as bright and soft as his hair.

A life-dream. Last night he'd felt the presence of his soulmate in the world, and with him in the world created by such dreams, and there were…No words.

He closed his eyes, and for a minute more he basked in the sensation of comfort, the stainless steel strength of his Other… And the soft brush of a thread that would weave itself, smoothly and quickly, into a whole tapestry of love in all its rich tones, beginning in the dreams they shared and electrifying when they met face to face.

(0)

Eventually, the glow faded. There was so much to remember – Aerith, and Riku, and the Clan waiting for him outside his door – that Cloud had to gently fold his dream into a love-note of thought and tuck it away inside him, and prepare to meet the day.

It faded, but it didn't leave him. The fire banked, but it still smouldered. Even with Riku's leaving a fresh and raw hurt slashed across his heart, nothing could completely snuff out the peace and contentment settled over him like a cloak.

He stared at himself in the mirror as he did up his shirt, his fingers quick and deft with the lingering spark of his dream. His eyes shone, his magic glimmering through the blue, and his skin had a luminescence that had not been there when he'd gone to sleep. His Clan would take one look at him and know that his life-dreams had come.

Witches aged just as humans did, though if they met with no injury they could live for much, much longer. But a prince could not become a King until he had his life-partner, and a Witch was not considered a mature adult until their magic was Safe, no matter their age. Until then, they were incomplete souls, possessing only a fraction of their magical potential and at risk of losing even that. Of losing their souls.

Until then, they weren't…developed. Finished. Complete.

But with the onset of his life-dreams, Cloud was closer to finished. Closer than Riku must have been: Cloud had touched and been touched, all night, and now he shone with it, but Riku…

Cloud looked away from his shining eyes, solemn once more. _Riku_.

He was going to have to make some decisions, he realised, glancing once more at the soft burnished glow of his skin and eyes – even his hair. Already thoughts of his Other had distracted him from what was important – his brother, and his responsibilities as prince. And it had felt good to forget – to let himself be held, safe and protected, in his life-partner's arms. Taken care of.

But he _was_ a prince, and eventually he would be King, and he couldn't afford to let himself be weak. He would find this Witch, his soulmate – some star-soft part of him sighed with quiet relief at the thought of finally being whole – but he would make sure their relationship was on equal grounds. He was not going to surrender control of his Clan or territory, and he was not going to be weak.

He fastened his sheath-harness over his chest, clipping his massive sword into place over his spine. He was going to be strong.

(0)

Downstairs was a riot of activity, and Cloud's eyes narrowed as he came down the staircase. It was only to be expected that those Witches who had gathered for the Meet would be leaving today, but there was too much going on for that.

He found an Angel and asked to have Vincent brought to him. Amidst all the bustle he slipped almost unnoticed, though he was both amused and pleased to see that breakfast was still being served this late in the morning when he walked into the dining room. The long table was lined with Witches, eating rapidly and talking loudly, and every few minutes someone would enter or leave the room, or be fetched by someone from outside it.

"Cloud!"

Turning on his heel, Cloud raised a single eyebrow as Yuffie came running towards him, seemingly from the ether.

"Have you eaten?" She asked, then cut him off as he started to reply. "Never mind, I'll get someone to bring you something. Come on, there's a meeting in the council room. No one wanted to wake you…"

She paused a moment – and smiled. "Congratulations, your Highness."

Despite the reminder of yesterday's events, Cloud found himself smiling back, an unfamiliar brand of joy bubbling inside him, like light seen through a glass of champagne. "Thank you, Yuffie." He'd known the glow of his life-dream was noticeable – he'd seen it in the mirror – but to have it acknowledged…

She beamed at him, and led him away.

(0)

There were more congratulations to receive in the high-ceilinged council chamber, but even the relief present in some of the faces couldn't overwhelm the seriousness behind their gathering. Vincent, of course, was present in the chair to Cloud's left, and both Archangels had a seat at the round table – unusual, since Tifa and Reno were so important that at least one of them was always needed somewhere, and to see them both together was rare – but so were Tseng, Barret, Lazard, and Reeve.

Cloud was surprised to see Reeve here – the man was a human-born Witch, and he'd originally been adopted into Fire-Clan, not the Stars. Star-Clan rarely took on human-borns – most ended up with the Shadows. And he was aware that the man had been part of a trade arranged before Aerith's murder – Clans often lent out or borrowed skilled craftsmen or warriors as needed, but only human-borns could be given away permanently. He didn't remember what Reeve had cost them, but he vaguely recalled that it had been a high price, and that Lazard had been pleased with what he'd seen as a bargain.

Evidently, the little human-born had proven himself to someone important.

"Now that we're all here," Reno drawled, leaning back in his chair idly, "Do you think we can get started?"

Everyone quietened down.

It was not Reno, however, but Tifa who began handing out files to those around the table.

"Yesterday, on a routine sweep for human-borns in London," she began as the Star Chamber began scanning what they'd been given, "Reno and Cid discovered two Witch teens living in the St Christopher's orphanage there." Her hair swished as she nodded to Reno. "Tell them what you told us."

He didn't need much prompting. "Two male Witches, twins, who appeared on the doorstep with no memory of anything before that." The list of facts seemed to be a familiar action for him, but they had never held a Council over a few human-borns before, and Cloud waited for the punch line.

"_Allegedly_," Reeve corrected quietly. "It's hard to disprove amnesia. They might be lying."

Reno dipped his head to the man. "True. But I don't think so, yo. These two…" He sighed. "They had that lost look. At their age they should be well-used to having their power, but I don't think they are." He exchanged a pointed look with Tifa. "And I wouldn't bet that they can control it. One of the workers at the orphanage described how Roxas set some broad's hair on fire when he was angry."

Vincent made a dismissive gesture with his clawed hand. "What has this to do with us?" He asked, his voice soft with sibilance. "The boys are in Fire-Clan territory. We have no claim to them."

At the reminder, Cloud stilled – and then flipped the file shut. "No," he said harshly, not in answer to Vincent but directed at the Angels. The warmth he'd woken with dissolved completely in the face of his anger. "We do not need any more conflict with Fire-Clan. And I resent," he said pointedly, coldly, "the Angels wasting our time like this. We have more important things to be organising right now." Like building the kind of fighting force that could defend them from Fire-Clan.

"Woah, man," Reno held his hands up in surrender/protest, the legs of his chair hitting the carpet with a muffled _thump_ as he leaned forward. "I know, I know – Vince's been filling me in. We need an army, right?" He glanced around the table, looking for support. Several of the Councillors were nodding in agreement; even if Cloud and Vincent hadn't addressed this publicly yet, each and every one of them had earned their seats here by being almost supernaturally smart. They had figured it out on their own. "Well, that's the thing. These two kids?"

He shook his head. "I've never felt anyone stronger," he said softly, his voice gone solemn. "Neither of them even cast, but the sheer _presence_ of all that magik knocked me back a step." He looked at Cloud, green eyes deadly serious. "I've seen Sephiroth. And not even he could rival these two, Cloud. We need them."

Tseng spoke up, unexpectedly; he was usually silent at these meetings, but Cloud paid close attention to whatever he said. Tseng had been his father's closest advisor. "If what you say is true," he said slowly, "then I suspect to allow Fire-Clan to claim them could prove disastrous."

They all sat in silence a moment, considering that.

"On the other hand," Vincent pointed out, "how do we know they're not Fire-Clan? It would not be hard for Sephiroth to guess that our Angels sweep London, even if it is not in our territory. It is the single largest collection of sentient creatures in his country; even if he cannot prove it, it would safe to assume that we search there. After all, the chances are good that somewhere in the city, there are Witches ready to be claimed." He glanced at Cloud and dipped his head. "And with all due respect, cousin, I do not think there is any Clan who has not, at some time in their history, claimed human-borns from outside their territory. It has been done.

"So these two could easily be Fire-Clan traps, could they not?"

Cloud chilled. He hadn't even considered that. And looking around the room, he could see that no one else had either.

_Stupid. Stupid! How can you be a Witch-King if you can't see even the obvious dangers? _

But… "No," Reno argued. "No way. These kids aren't Fire-Clan. They're not blood-born – they don't have the Fire-Clan look – and if Sephiroth found these two and claimed them? They wouldn't be walking around anymore. They're too strong. He'd have stolen their starfire and left their bodies in a ditch."

Tifa, Lazard, and Cloud all winced.

"How do you know this?" Tseng asked.

For a moment, the Archangel didn't answer; and when he did, he looked away. "Because the Angels find the bodies on our sweeps."

Without forethought, the picture formed in Cloud's mind; a small, fragile body made pale and stiff with death and ditchwater, only the last ghostly fragments of their stolen magik, still clinging to their damp, muddy clothes, differentiating them from all the human runaways who met bad ends every year.

It made him feel sick.

"Alright," Lazard said finally, adjusting his glasses with his white kid gloves. "In that case, are we agreed that the Angels should retrieve these boys?"

Everyone looked at Cloud, and he sighed, resigned to the weight on his shoulders. He tried not to think longingly of the warm bliss of his life-dream the night before; tried to focus.

_Stronger than Sephiroth…If they'll fight with us…_

"Hey!"

Abruptly Reno jumped up from his chair and onto the round table, and then leapt for the corner of the room, his lightning-sceptre in his hand and writhing with golden energies that dived ahead of him.

"What in the name of – " Tifa demanded – but they all saw the bright flash of light – like an emerald and silver firework – that burst out of the corner just before Reno reached it.

The red-head's fist slammed into the wall with a curse. The rest of them stared at him, not at all sure what to make of the spectacle.

When he turned back to them, his face was angry. "A recording spell. And not Star magik, either," he spat, his eyes blazing across the room at Tifa. "What the hell, woman? Is security so lax around here that Flames can cast spells in the Goddess-blessed _Council chamber?_"

"What?" Cloud found himself suddenly on his feet; Vincent mirrored him, and they were all turned to Tifa, aghast. The joint-Archangel had gone very pale behind her dark hair.

"I… It must have been when they were here for Riku," she said finally, obviously ashamed of herself. "One of them must have snuck in here…"

"And why weren't you watching them?" Reno roared. "They're _Flames_, for Goddess' sake! Who knows what they've seen!"

Vincent's red eyes were hard and cold. He obviously felt no mercy for Tifa's mistake. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn't fully Witch; that demonic blood ran through his veins too. And sometimes, like now, it was hard to forget. "They know about the human-borns."

There was silence.

"Well, shit," Tseng muttered. "We'll have to go get them now."

Central London

"Rinoa? It's on the table…"

Squall paused at the top of the stairs when he saw which door was open. "Rinoa?"

"I'm in here, Squall."

Quietly, Squall crossed the landing, following her voice into what had been the spare room of their small house. His wife was standing in the centre of the room, the evening light from the window playing over her long hair as she looked at their finished work.

With a soft smile, Squall wrapped his arms around her waist, dropping a kiss onto her head as she relaxed against his chest.

"Do you think they'll like it?" She asked him, and he didn't need to see her face to know that her eyes were still searching the room over and over for what they would need.

"I'm sure they'll love it," he promised her. "Tomorrow we'll go shopping, and then we'll spend the next week decorating. By the time they walk in, it'll be perfect. I promise."

He felt her sigh, and tightened his arms around her. He knew how badly she wanted children – and he knew what an amazing mother she'd be, once she had the chance. Rinoa was the warmest, kindest person he'd ever met, and he would gladly work night and day to make this room exactly how she imagined it could be. Maybe adoption wasn't what he'd imagined, when he thought about having a family with her. But he would make this work.

He would do anything to make her happy.

He felt her tap his arm, and knew she was smiling. "Did you say something about dinner, oh my wonderful house-husband?"

He grinned, and turned her head to kiss her softly before releasing her. "I'm hardly a house husband," he corrected, lacing their fingers together to lead her downstairs. "But I think even _I_ can manage to order a pizza."

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

Kadaj raised his eyes from the crystal screen and looked questioningly at his father.

Sephiroth seemed to be still considering the information provided by their recording spell. But not for long – no General rose to power who could not think quickly. "They know we know," he stated. "And they will be wary. Increase border patrols, particularly in London. They won't dare to move too quickly, which allows us some time to attend to other matters."

"Other matters?" Kadaj asked respectfully.

The Witch-King nodded. "Zachary is distressed," he explained without a flicker of emotion. "Riku's presence came to him as a shock. I intended to prepare him before now, but it slipped my mind, I'm afraid."

Kadaj could understand that. It wasn't as if the King's consort was of much importance, in the grand scheme of things. When Zack had approached Sephiroth privately at a Clan Meet, the Flames had seen nothing but a business opportunity. At worst, seducing away the Star-Clan Crown Prince would leave their enemy in confused shambles; at best, there was a possibility of merging their two territories and increasing Fire-Clan power. Alas, the latter had been impossible, but Zack had been the first domino in the destruction of the Star-Clan royal family…

And a Clan without royals was a Clan splintered.

The only annoyance was that Sephiroth's household had to hide their less socially acceptable activities from his consort. But with Sephiroth's ability to draw on Zack's power through their bond as life-partners, it was a small price to pay.

Sephiroth shook his head free of distractions, putting those thoughts to one side. "See to those border patrols," he ordered, dismissing his son from his study. "I expect to see the schedule and rota on my desk tomorrow morning."

His eyes gleamed. "And, one week from now, we will claim those human-born twins."


	10. Interlude

Okay, so, this really should have gone in the last chapter but for some reason, I forgot to include it. Not a chapter! Just a teeny tiny interlude so I can get back to writing the REAL next chapter!

Enjoy anyway!

* * *

Interlude 

Clan-Home of the Shadow-Clan

" – but my Prince, these rumours –"

"Stop, Luxord," Axel interrupted. "For the last time – I'm not interested. Not my territory, not my problem." He had woken badly – another life-dream, and like all of the others it had been full of frustration and pain, even anguish. "Let the Stars handle it, if they want to. It's nothing to do with us."

_The sapphire in the hilt flashes in the harsh light every time the blade bites into the rubber dummy._

_Flash, flash, flash._

_And Axel wants to ask, Why are you doing this? Because the blond is exhausted, hair damp with sweat and his movements jerky with a pain that comes from pulled muscles. Every time he hacks into the practise dummy, the effort of jerking it free makes him sob, and those deep blue, beautiful eyes are full of tears. _

_And determination. They have dark rings under them, speaking of sleepless nights – how many? – but the blond is so determined and he will – not – give – up!_

It had not endeared Axel to the world. Which meant he didn't want to hear it when Luxord, the Shadow-Clan's ambassador to the Star-Clan, came to him with stories of human-borns no where near his own kingdom.

He wanted to be left alone.

On the crystal screen set into the wall of Axel's office – which had been his father's, when the old bastard was still alive – Luxord bowed, obviously unhappy but obedient to his Prince's wishes. Axel felt guilty; the man was a good Witch, and a good ambassador, and he didn't deserve to be brushed aside like this.

"I'm sorry, Luxord," he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "I had a bad night. It's not you."

"A life-dream, your Highness?" Zexion murmured, standing to the right of Axel's chair as Luxord bowed again and disappeared as the screen went dark.

"Yes." Axel said quietly, his tone clearly saying that he didn't want to talk about it. Only in rare circumstances did a Witch discuss the details of a life-dream with anyone else, but Axel didn't feel like even mentioning that he'd had one. Not today.

With his typical blitheness, however, Zexion ignored the unspoken warning. "My Prince, correct me if I'm wrong, but when you told us to search for your life-partner you gave us an idea of who to search for, details not normally shared in our culture. You told us to find a boy that had no history, no past, and we found no one fitting that description in any of the three Clans."

His dark violet eyes met Axel's calmly in the reflective surface of the crystal screen. "Might it not be possible, my Prince, that a human-born with amnesia fits that description perfectly?"

Axel stared blankly at his advisor's reflection. Then,

"Get Luxord back on this line."

1


	11. Snatched

Okay! No surprises, you were all expecting this - all the background has been told, all the culture, the plot is set up, and now the story really begins. I hope you all enjoy it!

A note: one of the reasons it took me so long to get back to fanfiction is that I've been busy writing my own origonal works. It's actually a trilogy, and book one has been finished; I'm in the middle of writing book two. I've put up some of book one, _Starfire_, on my account at fictionpress - I'm called Siavahda over there too. So if anyone would like to, please feel free to go over there and see what you think!

And now, back to the Witches.

**:edit:** People! Several reviewers have asked what I plan to do with Tifa; in other words, who is her life-partner? Honestly, when I started this story Tifa was a very minor character and I never planned to mention it. SO! It is up to you, the readers, to decide. Reno and Vincent are out of the running, as will be explained below, which leaves very few people. Rude springs to mind, and I guess there's all the Organisation 13 people. Alternatively, we could pair her up with Yuffie! Those are not your only choices, of course. Vote in your reviews!

* * *

Chapter Nine – Snatched

North London

"…Vincent, do you think you could cover up that glove, yo?"

"No."

"…" Reno shook his head, glancing around at the dozens of Humans looking at them. Vincent attracted attention at the best of times – even by the standards of Witches, he was beautiful – but it might have helped them passed by unseen if he would have taken a little more effort not to appear part Demon.

"The Flames'll know we're here," he said blithely. "Since no one _else_ we know has a great bronze arm, it'll be pretty easy for them to identify the reports of you, yo."

This seemed to get through; Vincent didn't acknowledge him, but – it was strange. Magik flared, brushed over Reno's senses, but instead of the feeling he was used to – like the colours of the northern lights and the strength of a diamond – Vincent's magik was braided fire and lightning.

Reno watched the spell wrap around Vincent's arm, the illusion masking it flawlessly, and wasn't sure what to think.

"The rumours are true," Vincent said suddenly, and Reno looked up to find the Second-Heir watching him. It would be a lie to say those red eyes weren't a little creepy – they pinned you in place, almost, and threatened to swallow you whole. He remembered hearing how cobras hypnotised mice with their eyes. "My father had at least one Demon in his bloodline. It came out strongly in me."

Which explained the feel of the guy's magik.

"You can ask," Vincent added, something that might have been amusement glittering in that red gaze. "It will take us some time to get where were are going."

Well, if that wasn't an invitation… "I thought no one knew?" The whole Clan realised that there was _something_ in Vincent's background, but he'd only heard the word 'Demon' when a few Angels were out and drinking together. Demons lived in their own universe and didn't have much to do with this one – which was perfect, because they were fucking terrifying.

Not that Vincent had ever put flowers in his hair and worn a peace sign around his neck, but…

"It was easier to let everyone believe what they wanted," Vincent said calmly. "But my father knew, and so did my mother. They died in the same skirmish that killed my uncle, before they could tell me. But it became somewhat obvious when I reached puberty."

Reno raised an eyebrow in silent question, curious despite himself.

Vincent's mouth – red and full – twisted; it might have been a smirk. "I had no life-dreams. Demons don't – our souls are whole, so there is no need for an 'other half', as it were."

"Huh." Reno was quiet, thinking.

He saw Vincent glance at him from the corner of his eye. "I would have expected you to react more dramatically," the – Demon? – commented.

Reno shrugged, keeping his face a mask of indifference so that the twisting of his heart didn't show. "Nah. Must be nice, yo. You can't lose your soulmate if you don't have one. Seems safer to me."

He'd said too much. But maybe he wanted someone, anyone, to know. To offload just a little piece of the pain.

"Who?" Vincent asked quietly, a few minutes later. When Reno had decided that the Second-Heir was going to leave it be.

The Archangel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Aerith."

It was strange not to hear a hissed gasp, no platitudes or apologies. Reno didn't look, but somehow he knew there would be no pity in Vincent's eyes – just that calm, measuring gaze, assessing him. It was the same expression that so many Witches found unnerving – as if he could look straight down into your soul and find you wanting. Even the Angels squirmed when they were on the receiving end of that look, but Reno wasn't sure, for once, that Vincent's eyes held any disdain. They usually did – Vincent made no attempt to hide the fact that he was not a people person – but the Archangel couldn't read his expression now.

"Why did you not approach her?" He asked instead, and despite himself Reno was surprised. No Witch would have asked that question. If he'd ever doubted the rumours that Vincent was something other, he didn't now.

Once bonded, if one half of a life-bond died the other tended to follow – usually instantly, though it was known for the surviving Witch to linger sometimes, unable to eat or drink or recognise the world around them. Their emotional state was similar to clinical shock and post traumatic syndrome, and yet worse; active suicide was unknown among Witches, but without the other half of their soul a Witch starved, unable to do anything but keen their loss and pain. Most were put out of their misery by their King or Queen; the one exception to the Witch Law against murder.

But this was an understood and accepted part of their society. It was a risk everyone took willingly. To live a long, full life with your life-partner – well, if the price was a few hours or days of unbelievable agony, then it was a price they were all willing to pay.

To lose your life-partner before you had ever known them was not the same thing. Not even close. A Witch was born with only half a soul. Without your life-partner, you could never be complete – never know the reality of emotions, or magik, or yourself. You could only ever live a half life. And if your life-dreams never came, or if the person in them died before you could reach them – it was unimaginable.

For most.

"She was five years younger than me, yo," Reno muttered. "And a Princess, for Goddess' sake. I wanted to wait for _her_ life-dreams to start, for _her_ to know. Maybe by then I'd have had some kind of life to offer her – a home of our own." Traditionally the Archangel resided in the Clan-Home, but for Aerith he'd wanted something better than that – a house of her own. With a garden.

Vincent was silent for a long time, and they'd turned on to the street of _St Christopher's_ by the time he spoke again. "My father was not my mother's life-partner. The man she was born for died in a duel, and eventually she became involved with my father." The Demon shrugged, the red coat he'd exchanged his customary cloak for rippling down its length. "He loved her. And they were both happy." His sharp eyes found the building that was their destination. "Humans rarely find their soulmates, Reno, and yet almost all of them find love of one kind or another, and are happy."

Reno wasn't sure what the man was implying – or why Vincent's parents were at all relevant.

As if he'd heard the Archangel's thoughts, Vincent glanced at him briefly. "You were wrong to think yourself unworthy of Aerith. Even without your full power, you became Archangel of the Stars. But one mistake should not doom you to misery forever. Your – our – culture is wrong about that."

And his stride lengthened, and Reno was left confused as Vincent approached the door of the orphanage and knocked politely; the Archangel had to hurry to catch up, and had no chance to think through what the Second-Heir had said.

Clan-Home of the Fire-Clan

The front hall was a bustling hive of activity, servants moving to and fro as Flame soldiers gathered, shining like fallen angels in their black leather and intricate armour. There weren't actually that many, but there seemed to be more as they laughed and buckled blades to their hips, or slung long, katana-like sheaths over their back to rest between their shoulders. Silver hair gleamed all around.

Riku was sitting at the turn of the stairs, watching the spectacle from between the railings. He had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was had kept Kadaj and his bodyguards busy yesterday and last night, and for the first time since he'd arrived he'd been able to sleep alone.

It had been a week. Just a week since he left his home, and already he doubted he would ever see it again. He missed Cloud with an almost physical pain, and it hadn't yet been long enough for him to mourn Aerith's death when everything else had happened. He wanted his big brother, his big sister – hell, he even wanted Vincent to swoop in with his velvet cloak like spilled blood and his Demon wings, to rescue him and take him home.

And Zack… They had barely spoken since their talk in the enclosed garden. In public Zack was polite, but that was all. The moment they were alone Sephiroth's consort disappeared, obviously unwilling to bare his heart to his little brother again.

Riku could understand it. He knew he was prejudiced, struggled with what he'd been taught, what he believed, and his faith – even now – in the brother that had raised him. And in truth, Sephiroth was almost serene within the confines of his own home – courteous to his son's betrothed, easily and unabashedly affectionate with Zack, and if his sense of justice was harsh then no one seemed unhappy with his decisions. Riku had slipped into the throne room a few days ago to watch Sephiroth accept the petitions of his Clan, adjudicating over those who came to him with their problems; and everyone, even those he deemed guilty, bowed their heads in acceptance and moved on without any appearance of resentment.

He was a good King. Riku was forced to admit it, if only to himself. He had never heard of a Witch King accepting petitions like that, but it was a good idea. Something he would have been proud to claim his father, or even his brother, had come up with.

So, maybe, possibly, he could be a good life-partner. Riku wasn't convinced that the subtle love and affection Sephiroth had for Zack could be given to anyone else – Sephiroth was like a sword, one whose hilt fit only into Zack's hand, cutting anyone else – but for Zack personally, he thought that maybe Sephiroth wasn't as bad a choice as he'd feared.

He looked down at the gathering in the hall and shivered. He couldn't say the same about Kadaj. Every evening Riku could barely make himself eat at dinner, he felt so sick with fear and hate and dread. The Flames kept earlier hours than the Star-Clan; they went to bed early and rose with the sun.

He never wanted to go to bed. Not here. Apart from…from _that_, he was afraid that Kadaj's presence was blocking his life-dreams somehow. He hadn't had another glimpse of the boy with cinnamon hair since he arrived here.

It was useless to think about him. Riku would never know him, never touch him. But that didn't stop it hurting.

Blinking away tears, he stood up a little shakily, ready to run back up the stairs. The gathering downstairs had little interest for him. He didn't care where they were all going.

"Riku!"

Startled, he flinched, glancing down in surprise – and numb dread. How had he not seen Kadaj down there, when that face was so deeply imprinted on his nightmares?

The Flame Prince was standing near the great double doors, Loz and Yazoo hovering faithfully in the background. Sephiroth and Zack were there, too, both in formal dress – the armour Zack had worn at that first breakfast – and the King had a gold circlet binding his long hair back. How had he missed them all?

Kadaj gestured for him to come down and, trying not to shake, Riku did so, too aware of all the eyes on him as he descended the staircase quickly and without grace. As he approached the royal family, he glanced at Zack, but his brother's face was a flawless mask, warm and polite but impenetrable. He felt a pang; would Zack ever forgive him?

_It's only been a week. Give him time_, Riku told himself. Part of him longed to tell his big brother what was happening in Kadaj's room every night – surely Zack would put a stop to it? Stop everything?

But if he didn't… If he didn't, then Riku would not be able to survive it. So he hadn't told Zack.

"We're leaving to pick up a couple of human-borns, Riku," Kadaj said casually, the gleam in his eyes belying the apparent indifference. "Kiss me for luck?"

It took everything he had, all the years of royal training, to keep Riku from flinching. To keep him from snarling and summoning his blade and cutting those mocking eyes out of Kadaj's face.

But Zack was frowning at his son-in-law. "Kadaj, you know that's inappropriate," he said sternly.

Kadaj flickered a glance at him and opened his mouth, but one sharp look from Sephiroth made his jaw snap shut. "My apologies, Riku," he said instead, coolly, formally. "Would you like to come with us? To make up for my insult?"

Riku hesitated, but Zack turned and smiled at him encouragingly – the same expression that had gotten Riku onto a horse for the first time and made him pick himself up and get back in the saddle when he fell. "Alright," he said slowly, more for that smile than for Kadaj. "Will I need anything?"

Kadaj shook his head; his hair rustled and shimmered. "You can ride with me."

Riku's stomach churned at the thought, but he just nodded silently, keeping his eyes downcast in case someone saw the hate in them.

"That's a point." Zack touched Sephiroth's shoulder. "We should get Riku a horse of his own, Seph." The one that had come with Riku from Star-Clan had been returned, of course. Fire-Clan wasn't one to accept gifts.

The Witch-King's expression turned considering. "Yes." He agreed simply. He turned his face towards Riku. "By the time you return, Riku, Zack and I will have found a suitable mount for you. It is only proper."

Riku glanced up, startled. "Thank you," he said, remembering his manners. "It would be an honour to receive such a gift."

Sephiroth dipped his head in acknowledgement of the correct response, and Zack's blue-violet eyes shone, his expression – not soft, but edged with a quiet happiness. It made Riku's heart twist; his brother still had no idea that this wasn't a willing betrothal. The small joy of his own at the thought of getting a horse turned to ashes in his mouth.

"Well, come on," Kadaj said impatiently. "We need to get going." He gestured for the handful of Flames who would be going with them to gear up outside.

"Be careful," Sephiroth warned his son. "Keep an eye out for enemy Witches."

Riku's ears pricked at that. _Enemy Witches? _Other Witches, maybe, but who called those from other Clans enemies?

Zack, apparently not noticing the strange turn of phrase, kissed Kadaj's cheek; not warmly, exactly, but without any distaste, either.

"Keep an eye on my brother," he said jokingly, pulling back to stand beside Sephiroth again. "I'm holding you responsible if anything happens to him."

Riku swallowed hard at the gleam in Kadaj's eyes when the Fire-Prince looked at him.

"Oh, I will," he said softly.

Clan-Home of the Shadow-Clan

"For the last time, you are not coming with us!"

Axel snarled at the Witch baring his way, his chakrams spinning idly, warningly in his hands. "Saix, _get out of my way_."

The wolf shape-shifter shook his head firmly.

Fire flickered over the chakrams.

"Axel, Saix is correct," Zexion interrupted their stand-off hurriedly. "It is far too dangerous for you to go yourself. The Stars and Flames are both involved. We cannot risk you becoming caught in the crossfire."

Axel glared at him. "I have waited an entire _week_," he hissed. "And in all that time, you were unable to come up with some kind of protection for me? He's my life-partner, Zexion!"

"We don't know that," his advisor began, but the Prince interrupted him.

"I _do_ know. I feel it. Here." The chakram in his right hand vanished in a shower of sparks and he placed his hand, a fist, over his heart. "I need to go, Zex. Please. How can I sit here and wait, not knowing?"

The smaller man hesitated, but in the end it was Xemnas who stepped forward and put his hand on Axel's shoulder.

"You are a Prince, Axel," he said quietly. "And your life is not your own. The Clan cannot afford to lose you as we lost your father."

For a moment, no one moved, waiting.

And then the tension bled out of Axel's shoulders, and his remaining chakram disappeared.

"Fine. Go." He glanced up at the armed Shadows – Larxene and Marluxia with his scythe, Saix blocking the doorway and Xemnas, too. "Go! If you lose him I will never forgive any of you."

He wasn't joking, and they knew it. As one, they bowed and vanished in a swirl of black and violet light.

Axel sighed, his fingers flexing as he shoved them into his pockets. His hands ached to summon his weapons and go after them. Goddess, to be so close! So close! It made him sick with nerves and anticipation, desperate hope clawing at his throat. Made it hard to breathe.

"Come on, Zex," he said instead with a wry grin. "You can keep me entertained until they get back."

"Entertained, my Prince?" His advisor asked warily.

"Chess, Zexion, chess."

Zexion sighed. He was poor at the game, and they all knew it. "I was afraid of that," he muttered, but followed his Prince obediently out of the room.

Central London

"Well? What do you boys think?"

Roxas hung back a little, sharp, demanding instincts he couldn't put a name to making him look over every corner of the room before he gave an opinion. The window had no bars; it looked fragile, breakable, even if it allowed the watery sunlight to fall onto the matching blue blankets on the twin beds. And the lock on the door, he could tell at a glance, was flimsy, no real protection. If it came to that, he could see how you could lift the door straight off its hinges. It was not a room built to defend or protect.

_Why should it be?_

Sora wasn't as hesitant; he turned back and smiled brightly at Rinoa in the doorway.

"It's amazing," he said clearly, and there was nothing in his face or voice pointing to guile. "I love it!" He laughed and, impulsively, hugged her. "Thank you!"

Seeing how their guardian's face lit up, Roxas smiled too. Not as bright and enthusiastic as Sora's, but a real smile. "It's wonderful, Rinoa," he assured her when the brunette looked his way with a question in her eyes. "Thank you. You must have worked really hard."

She flushed with pleasure, and shrugged, trying to hide how much their words meant. "Yes, well. You two deserved it, didn't you? Now," she said quickly, "I think Squall should have dinner ready by now – why don't you two go see?"

Sora looked at her with concern. "Are you okay, Rinoa – ?"

Roxas grabbed his twin's arm. "Okay," he said quickly, pushing his brother out the door before he could finish. "See you in a sec, Rinoa."

"Roxas!" Sora hissed as they walked down the stairs. "Why did you do that?"

The blond glanced back over his shoulder in time to see their maybe-mom wipe her eyes. "It's a grown-up thing, Sora," he answered calmly. "Now come on. Let's go bug Squall."

Maybe the room wasn't as easily defensible as he would have liked, Roxas thought as they helped Squall set the table, Squall answering Sora's incessant questions with an easy calm. But it was still a good place to be.

North London

"What do you mean, they've been adopted?"

South London

"Won't the Humans notice the horses?" Riku asked Kadaj as they neared the city.

The Flames had joked amongst themselves as they rode, but Riku had kept quiet, focussing on the easy canter of the exquisitely bred stallion he and Kadaj shared. He was glad for the small mercies; sitting behind his fellow Prince, rather than in front of him, and the thick leather armour between Riku's hands and Kadaj's waist. But the more they drew into urban areas, the more he wondered why no one was glancing their way. Sure, the scouting group had separated – he, Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo going one way while the others split up to 'cover more ground' – but still, the four of them were riding three coal black stallions. Not a normal sight in south London.

"Glamour," Kadaj said shortly.

Yazoo caught sight of Riku's confusion. "It's a Fire-Clan spell," he explained in his soft voice. "Like illusion."

"Oh." Despite himself, Riku was interested; he glanced down at the horses' hooves. "So what are the Humans seeing?"

"Nothing special." Yazoo glanced at Kadaj for confirmation. "They see us, but can't remember seeing us the moment we're gone."

Riku chilled. "Oh," he said more quietly. That wasn't like illusion, which might mask an object or a person but only affected what it was cast on. Glamour screwed with a person's mind – a Human's mind. "Is it safe?"

Loz laughed. "Safe? Why do you care? They're just Humans!"

Stung, Riku shut up and looked away, avoiding their eyes. But he watched the Humans they passed and felt sick to his stomach.

North London

Saix froze as they turned yet another street corner, and the others Shadows hesitated. Golden lightning lashed like snakes up over Larxene's sleeves, and Marluxia twirled his thin wand of ebony wood between his fingers. "And what has the wolf got scent of now?"

Xemnas flicked a dismissive glance at the Assassin, and touched Saix's shoulder questioningly, silent.

The contact jolted Saix out of his almost-trance, but his voice was low and rough, the words thick as they forced their way through a fanged mouth. "There are other Witches here."

"Is that all?" Marluxia rolled his eyes. "Darling, we're here _looking_ for Witches."

Saix growled. "Not human-borns. _Trained_ Witches. The smell is different." He turned to Xemnas urgently. "We need to move faster."

"Then let us do so." Xemnas said calmly, but his gold eyes glittered. "I should not like to return home without Axel's life-partner."

Central London

"This is it," Loz declared, swinging down from his saddle. "The human-born nest."

Riku looked up at the house as his feet touched the ground behind Kadaj. The horses made no move to wander off, despite being left unhaltered in the middle of a street, so if the others weren't going to worry about it he wouldn't either. The so called 'nest' was a small but well up-kept house, taller than it was wide, with flower pots lining the small path up to the front steps, and hanging blooms above the door. The downstairs windows had blue curtains, and the whole building was white-washed, with ivy climbing up the wall.

It was a nice house, a pretty house. Very different from either of the Clan-Homes he'd seen, but still. It didn't look like a bad place to live.

His attention jerked to the side at the cloying, slithery sensation of Flame magik. Yazoo had his hands spread as he faced down the other end of the street, and to Riku's Witch-sight the air seemed thick and shiny that way. A magical barrier.

_Why would they need one of those? _

"Come on, Riku," Kadaj called mockingly, pushing open the gate. "Let's go say hello."

(0)

In one moment, Roxas was twirling spaghetti on his fork. With one ear, he was listening to Sora badgering Squall for stories from his stretch in the military; with the other he was talking to Rinoa about starting school. They were both being careful, because Rinoa knew that the twins couldn't remember anything before St Christopher's, and Roxas wasn't completely sure what a school _was_, but it didn't sound too bad.

Learning stuff was never a bad thing, in Roxas' experience.

_What experience?_

The next moment, there was a crash in the front hall – _the door_, Roxas just knew, _they broke it down_ – and shouting.

"Kadaj, what the hell are you doing?"

Rinoa and Sora seemed frozen with pure shock, and Roxas didn't blame them, but when someone cried out he was in front of his brother and Squall was in front of him, between the silver haired boy who fell – went sprawling – onto the floor from beyond the doorway.

"Get out of my home," Squall snarled, and Roxas moved just slightly to the right, trying to see who Squall was addressing – and his eyes went wide, because there was something long and silver gleaming in their guardian's hand. It couldn't seem to decide if it was a sword or a really, really long gun; there was a barrel near Squall's hand, and the man's fingers were curled around a trigger built into the hilt, but the thing was sharp like a razor.

Where the hell had Squall pulled that from?

"Don't worry," someone said, and a chill went down Roxas' spine at the sound of that cool, indifferent voice. "In about ten minutes, you'll either be dead or you'll have forgotten we were ever here."

The man moved, and Roxas saw him for the first time. He had the same silver hair as the boy curled up in pain on the floor, and he wore the same dark leather. In fact, they could have been brothers; except that the younger one had protested this, and the one who'd spoken looked cruel enough to enjoy…whatever he was planning.

A click that stilled them all; and Squall swung his – sword, gun, thing, up to point at the intruder.

"I will warn you once," Squall said quietly. "Get out. Or I will shoot you."

The stranger didn't look concerned. "You can try."

Instantly, a shot rang out. About a foot away from the man, the bullet hit something red, like a wall of light – but it cut straight through and hit the stranger in the upper thigh.

Shock, and pain; the stranger yelled and clutched his wound, dark blood tricking between his fingers. Squall's arm never wavered.

"Rinoa, go call the police," he said calmly, and Roxas could see that her hands were shaking but she got up from her chair without hesitating.

Roxas was watching the stand off in front of them; it was Sora who cried out "Rinoa!" and scrambled out of his chair as another silver head flickered in their vision.

"Sora, don't!" Roxas made a grab for his brother, but he didn't need to; they both froze, because there was another one, and he had an arm around Rinoa's waist and a dagger at her throat.

This one's hair was longer, Roxas noticed absently.

"Let her go! Squall!" Sora called desperately, and their guardian turned around.

"Rinoa!"

(0)

"This is it," Saix announced, and pointed. "They're in there."

"Then let's go already!" Larxene slashed her Foudre back and forth in the air with bloodthirsty excitement. "What are we waiting for?"

"Look," Marluxia snapped. "They have a shield up."

"No human-born is capable of something like that," Xemnas said slowly. "And it does not taste like Star magik."

The four of them exchanged glances and cursed.

"Now we _really_ have to hurry," Marluxia said needlessly. With a flick of his wrist, his wand snapped out into a scythe.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go smash some heads!"

(0)

Riku wasn't sure whether to get up or stay where he was on the ground. He hadn't been that hurt, even if Kadaj's backhand had left blood in his mouth. But he'd fallen, and it might well be safer on the floor.

He glanced up to take stock of the situation – and froze.

(0)

Roxas' eye was caught by the flicker of movement in the corner of his vision, and he turned his head to look.

_Sora, that kid on the ground is staring at you._

_I don't care about some weird kid!_ Sora yelled so loudly that Roxas winced. _What about Rinoa? Roxas, we have to free her! _

Everyone in the room seemed frozen, at a standoff. Squall's expression was agonised, but his gun-thing was still pointing squarely at the first stranger, and the man who had Rinoa seemed afraid that Squall would shoot again.

And then he pulled himself together, and jerked Rinoa's head back roughly. Roxas could tell she was trying to be quiet, but she made a pained sound and Squall snarled, viciously, and swung his weapon to point straight at the long-haired man's head.

It was a lie that trained marksmen couldn't make that shot, Roxas realised, looking at Squall's face. In the movies, no one was ever willing to risk the hostage. But even in the short time they'd known him, Roxas knew Squall wouldn't take _any_ kind of risk with Rinoa's safety unless he knew it was no risk at all.

"Yazoo!"

Squall fired, but too late; the first man tackled him and the shot went wide, shattering the glass door of the display cabinet in the corner, and Sora screamed and Roxas saw, too late, how the knife flashed across Rinoa's throat and the blood, so much _blood_, and the man's expression didn't even flicker; he just shoved Rinoa to the side like – like she was _nothing_ –

And reached for Sora's wrist –

And there was something long and black and gleaming in Roxas' hand and he was screaming, he swung his arm and the blade, the black sword, swung with him and sliced through the hand – Yazoo's hand – that was clutching at his brother; it slid through the flesh and bone _as if it were nothing_ –

And Yazoo _shrieked_ –

And – and a bolt of lightning, bright and golden and roaring like a tiger, shattered the window and crashed into Yazoo's chest so that he went flying back into the wall, and Roxas grabbed Sora's wrist (_all slicked with Yazoo's blood, and the guy's hand was on the floor like a forgotten shoe_) and pulled him away, but Sora was crying and fighting him and trying to get to Rinoa, calling her name, and everything was exploding, shattering, there were more people in the room, and they were fighting, flashes of black and violet and red-green light flying through the air so that Roxas shoved Sora under the table, shouting _**Stay there!**_ inside their heads; and when any of the hot, sizzling lights came near them Roxas deflected them with his black sword, instinctively, without needing to think about it, and he just kept doing that – batting them away as if he were playing baseball –

Squall threw his attacker off of him and snatched at his fallen sword; it swung for the man's neck but he dived out of the way and threw a blast of – of _something_ at Squall's face –

Squall deflected it as easily as Roxas had been doing.

Briefly, Roxas was distracted, stunned – _how did he do that?_ – so that he jumped when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Boys! Come on! We need to get you out of here!" The guy's hair was _pink_, and he had a huge scythe in his hand, like something from a Grim Reaper costume at Halloween, but he was one of the people who were fighting the first lot of freaks, so Roxas nodded. Ducking under the table, he took Sora's hand – his twin was still choking on tears, and Roxas' heart wrenched at the sight – and pulled him out.

_We're going_, he told his brother, knowing he wouldn't be heard over all the noise if he spoke aloud, and Sora tensed.

_Not without Rinoa and Squall!_

Reflexively, Roxas' eyes flickered to Rinoa's body. Their guardian hadn't moved since Yazoo shoved her down. _Sora…_

_No! _Sora struggled in his grip, oblivious to the melee around them, but Roxas just tightened his grip. _No! She can't be – no! Rinoa! _

Roxas shook him ruthlessly. _We don't have time for this! Look around, Sora! We have to go!_

Sora yelled aloud, wordlessly. _Why didn't you protect her?_

Roxas blinked, confused. It hadn't even occurred to him. It was Sora he had to protect, not anyone else. But he could have – why hadn't he? He could have stopped Rinoa from getting up, could have fried Yazoo's brain from the inside when he touched her –

_What? _Where did _that_ thought come from?

No time. _Because you're my brother, _he snapped, _and it's you I care about first. Now __**come on**__! _

_No! Squall!_

With a growl of impatience, Roxas turned back to the pink-haired guy, ignoring his confused expression – it must have looked weird, their silent conversation. "He won't go without our guar – dad. Our dad."

Understanding blossomed, and the guy looked up. "The scarred brunette?"

Roxas nodded.

"No problem, we'll bring him too," scythe-y promised. "Just take my hand and we'll get out of here!"

Frowning, Roxas glanced from Squall's fighting figure to the stranger's gloved hand.

_Take it._

Without questioning the instinct, Roxas obeyed – and black and violet sprang up around the three of them as the world around them vanished.

(0)

_***Marluzia has the boys,***_ Xemnas mind-called, the spell fizzing in the heads of all the Shadows. _***We must bring their father. Grab him and retreat.* **_

_***I've got him!***_ Larxene crowed. A blast of her signature thunder slammed into Kadaj, and as the Fire-Clan Prince flew backwards the blonde caught the Human's shoulder.

But the brunette turned his head away from them all once Kadaj was taken care of, and he saw the woman Xemnas assumed was his wife, lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

"Rinoa!" He cried out, and Larxene cursed as he ran away from her – but she caught him again, before he got too far, and the familiar colours of shadow-walking swallowed them before the man reached his wife's body.

_***Everyone out,* **_Xemnas ordered instantly. _***Scatter and return to the Clan-Home separately. Leave no trail for the Flames to follow!***_

Briefly, Xemnas glanced for Saix, the blue-haired Witch having disappeared almost before they entered the house, but he saw Kadaj raise his arm, his hand glowing with white fire, and shadow-walked before the Flame could burn him alive.


End file.
